


"It's like Rock Paper Scisors."

by calumTraveler



Series: The Dragonbreak Puzzle [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Changing Narrative, First Person, Gen, Non-Linear Narrative, Second Person, Spoilers!, Temporary Character Death, Werewolves, lycanthropy, third person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-24 21:07:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 25,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1617113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calumTraveler/pseuds/calumTraveler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Rat, a Knight, and a Traveler fall into a familiar circle. {Originally posted on the Entering Skyrim website.}</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Howl of the Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a tail is chased.

The Breton known to many loosely as <<The Rat>>, and to her few friends as <<Argo>>, suspected that she was destined by the Scrolls themselves to run into Wolves for the rest of her (un)Natural Life.

Awakening in her cell in Coldharbour, Argo had been unnerved by tripping over a wolf's skull, and upon closer examination, a werewolf's skull at that. And after escaping to Auridon, and further traveling to Khenarthi's Roost to meet up with the Khajiit that had fished her out of the ocean and paid a Privateer to send her to the city, things had gone almost exceptionally well, excluding the fact that those Soul Shrivern robes itched like she had fleas and her only piece of armor smelled like wet dog (Quickly righted upon finding the nearest crafting station in Mistral, it was broken down with extreme prejudice for materials).

After a run in with many Maomer, and a drunken night at a bar in which she met a Bosmer who had escaped from Coldharbour as well, Argo returned to Auridon and went to work joining that rascally Razum-dar in the Queen's Eyes. Molag Bal's Dark Anchors had been built on ancient Mystical Wells of unknown origin (A fellow in the Fighters Guild implied that they were of Ayelid origin, however likely that was), and provided a much welcome distraction from the haunting spirit of the wolf that seemed to follow her around... Up until she ran into her first Wolf Pack.

The damned things had sniffed at her in confusion before attacking. What nonsense was this?! She'd seen them attack others on Auridon with no such hesitation at all! It drove Argo to near insanity, to the point that when she ran into that Bosmer again in Skywatch that they'd shared a drunken rant about Auridon's native wildlife. (He seemed to be having quite a peculiar trouble with Imps wandering the landscape!) As it turned out, this strange Bosmer had been scouted by Raz as well, and the Khajiit was strangely amused when they both replied to his summons at the same time the next morning. (On that Isle of Deception, she began to see what the Bosmer meant about the Imps.)

After that, they went their separate ways for a time. Much time passed, and the Island was nearly cleared of troubles, Save for a man seeking the Rilis throne, and a helmet inside. Argo felt a nagging suspicion that something was awry as she continued through the dungeon with this Sorondil fellow... the hairs on the back of her neck rose in anticipation as he finally put on the helm...

And then she heard the man's pained howl of transformation. The following fight had been harrowing, and she had actually died more than once (if there was anything to thank Molag Bal for, it was this strange ability to restore herself to life) before putting the man down. Her armor was broken, skin broken and bleeding freshly (although quickly healing), and...she felt hungry.

It was then that Argo was concerned that she might have been infected with the curse that was a Werewolf transformation.

That night she returned to Skywatch and ran into that traveling Bosmer again, at a bar of all places. As a mer of the Mages Guild, he offered to check for any signs of infection with a simple blood test. As it turned out, she hadn't been infected. It was a relief, yes, but why did a part of her feel...disappointed somehow? That made no sense and she kept her thoughts to herself.

Grahtwood soon called, and Argo found the increase in temperatures blistering, to the point she'd once caught herself panting like a wolf after a fight. The port town of Haven resided near an ancient tree, that Bosmer had told her before her departure, and she'd gone to investigate. Brackenleaf- such a curious name for a tree, almost as if it were alive. The Briars soon provided her with a trial- a test to join their ranks. And come time to choose her Animal Spirit... She'd said Wolf before she even realized what it was she'd done.

It was then that that Pirates attacked Haven, and Argo ran into another Breton in town during the fight to free the town. Curious girl, that one- very inquisitive about everything there was in Grahtwood. After the town was free, Argo sent the girl up to see Brackenleaf, insisting that it was not a thing to miss.

Traveling through the jungle, Argo decided that she liked wolves better than the massive insects that roamed the jungle. Alas, there were none in Grahtwood.

There was a woman who was searching for her husband, a wayward minstrel... After a long and tiring trek trying to find him in Southpoint, Argo finally caught a lead. A small cabin north of the Grey Mire.

She ran into Werewolves along the path- five of them.

FIVE.

Argo wasn't sure how she survived that encounter at all, let alone the fact that she had been bitten and clawed and punched and her armor showed every piece of damage.

The Bosmer was in Haven- and asked what had hit her the moment she stepped out of the Wayshrine. She took enjoyment as his face paled at the description "Five Werewolves."

Yet again, he performed a blood test, and yet again, Argo was clean of infection.

"At this point," She said with a huff as he accompanied her to the forge to repair her armor, "I'm pretty much tempting fate."

She didn't doubt that it wouldn't happen sooner or later, it was only a question of when.


	2. Claw of the Tiger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a girl forges her own fate.

Your name is SILICA, but you introduce yourself as a KNIGHT of HURRICANE BLADES.

You grew up on Khenarthii's Roost after a Hurricane destroyed the boat that you and your parents were traveling on. A pair of friendly Khajiit took you in and raised you as their own cub. From them you learned the ways of the Temple of Two Moons- how to act quickly, efficiently, and ruthlessly. Revenge was a dish best served with cold indifference. You were just a cub to those around you, however. No matter how skilled you became in using twin daggers, twin swords, twin axes, twin whatever (Even your hair is done up in twin tails), they still saw you as a Cub. Your Parents, and you still thought of them as that even though they didn't want to take the place your birth parents, kept you swaddled away from the true dangers of the world. That is until a hurricane blew through.

You were out on the shores looking for your pet Scuttler when a man who smelled like worms grabbed you from behind, and dragged you to some alter. Before you knew it, your soul had been stolen by a High Elf who dug his dagger into your heart, and you were awakening in a cell in Coldharbour. You immediately put your training to good use. You joined the massive prison break, and followed a group that was being lead by an old man they called The Prophet, who one of your fellow prisoners had freed.

When you entered the vortex leading back to Tamriel, all you thought of was to return home. You Did.

You splashed down in the midst of another hurricane (Or was it the same one?) and swam to shore as your parents had taught you. Or at least, you would have had a swarm of Slaughterfish not decided to make you their lunch. For a few precious moments, your body was chewed up by the fish, and lost to the churning waves...

And yet when you awoke, you were alive and well at the wayshrine next to the Temple of the Two Moons. You didn't understand that death no longer meant anything to you until you realized that the storm had long since passed. You hurried home, only to find your house in Mistral abandoned, and your pet Scuttler crying in the corner, looking like he hadn't been fed in days. You searched the island for your parents, only to learn from one of your teachers at the Temple that they had vanished in the hurricane much like you had.

Assuming the worst, you buried two small boxes in mourning, and set about putting their final affairs in order, hoping desperately that they would return. Another hurricane started to brew in the horizon and was squashed before it hit shore. But that was not the end of it. The Silvernar had been murdered, and when you stumbled into your house one afternoon, you interrupted a Maomer mage who had thought your house abandoned, and had used it as a staging ground for their next ritual. Your daggers broke the Focus, and then her heart in quick succession.

It was then that a Bosmer mage with a summoned Scamp burst through the doors, moments too late to stop the ritual, but just in time to hear the Maomer pin the blame on the Mer who had ordered her to do it. What came next was a flurry of action- the Maomer attacking Mistral, and a group of warriors going to fight them off.

You tracked down the Bosmer shortly after the Maomer had been beaten off, and you insisted that he take you off the island-- Recompense for the Maomer using your house to start it all. He laughed and said that he couldn't do that. And why not, you asked. A matter of principle, he said. He thought you were too young to leave the island!

Too young? You had your soul stolen, and escaped hell itself only to find your parents missing-presumed-dead. There was nothing in the world that could scar you now.

And so you followed him- stealthily. You hid in a crate that followed him on a boat to Auridon. You would show him! Once you hit Auridon, though, you lost track of him and set out on your own. And where he evidently joined the Mages Guild, you found a group called the Undaunted. You traveled the island, helping out where you could, putting your blades to use and coin in your pockets. Death meant nothing to you- but that didn't mean you enjoyed it happening. You forced yourself to improve, to get stronger.

By the time you made it to Haven- already under siege by Pirates- you could take almost every blow thrown at you and deliver twice as much in return. A Breton like you directed you to a tree called Brackenleaf, and it was there you chose the Tiger as your sign. Attacking with such a ferocious force that none could reckon with you- you were a Tiger whose claws could not be stopped. A hurricane of blades that fell upon your enemies and delivered them to Sithis... That is, if they weren't like you.

In Southpoint, you had to fight a bear who was a Marine transformed by the Madness of Sheogorath himself. Your companion wasn't so helpful in that regard. Just standing there, sending the occasional heal. You blocked the bears attacks, only dishing them out in an attempt to stun- not that it mattered much, the bear was regenerating much too quickly to be killed by your blades. "Any time now!" you called out. But she did nothing.

So you ran, and the Bear followed.

Others joined you in your fight to subdue the transformed Marine, but it was never enough. The bear took some down- and you watched as they transformed with a brilliant light, restoring themselves to life much like you could.

Finally- your companion cast her spell, and the bear returned to normal. You then charged the Mayor of this mad town and confronted him, only to find out that your companion had been possessed by Sheogorath. 'Well that explains a few things', you thought glumly. Of course, the Mad God was not amused with the Mayor, and so set you up in an attempt to make him shine.

You took on every single trap of Sheogorath's without dying once, even though you very nearly came close to it. You set your mouth into a line, and delivered blow after blow after blow to every enemy he laid before you. Even the Mayor's forcing you to Kneel with magic did not save him, in the end.

You are a tiger- after all. Your claws always kill your prey no matter what tricks they throw at you.


	3. Bow of the Snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a mer seeks companionship.

I am the Traveler, and I always hated the taste of that damned frog.

Awakening in Coldharbour, I could taste it again, like it was trying to climb up out of my throat. Urgh.

As a Sorcerer, I travel the world seeking new experiences and encounters. This was not a welcome one, not at all. My soul? Stolen. My magicka levels? Weakened severely. I could barely summon a scamp, let alone my favored Winged Twilight. Over the weeks to follow my escape from Molag Bal's realm, I found that I was slowly regaining my powers back, ever so slowly. Repeating the training of several years over the course of a few weeks was not something I enjoyed, but it was something to suffer through.

I am the Snake- I slither in the shadows from place to place, striking with single blows to down my foes.

Escaping to Nirn once more, I pierced the water with a single movement- finding myself at Khenarthii's Roost upon emerging from the waves. A Khajiit named Razum-dar fished me out, and had I not maintained consciousness during my fall unlike several others, I would have been shipped out to Auridon. Not an unpleasant place, but I had been there before in the past. This place at least, was new. Despite that, I felt an odd sense of familiarity with the place, almost like I had been here before. But that was impossible, wasn't it?

Soon after that, I encountered a Breton girl at a bar, singing drunkenly. She was familiar to me in a way that made more sense than this Island; I had met her briefly in the escape attempt from Coldharbour. I broached the subject with her and she introduced herself as "The Rat", in return, I simply called myself "The Traveler." Over the weeks to follow, I would cross paths with her several times- usually at a bar, and in a concerning amount of times, I found myself performing Werewolf Infection tests on her.

But, my continual encounters with Imps were most likely the same as her insistent encounters with Wolves. Funny, I thought with amusement, if I was the Snake, then she was a Wolf. Brackenleaf's Briars would place me as Predator, and her as Prey. So I hinted to her that if she ever found herself in Grahtwood, that she should visit Brackenleaf and see what he had to say. In retrospect, I wasn't expecting her to actually go through with it and choose the Wolf as her Animal. As for that other Breton that had followed me from Khenarthii, I supposed she was a Tiger- my Predator. It would be amusing if she ever found herself at Brackenleaf and chose that sign as well. ...Of course now that I write this, it's only inevitable that she'll find her way there.

As a member of the Mages Guild, I continually find myself seeking out Books scattered across the world. However, one recent one caught my attention with regards to the ecto-plasmic shell it described within. Eerily similar to the resurrection effect I and others that have had our souls stolen experience. During my latest encounter with The Rat, I informed her of this discovery, and she seemed quite taken with the revelation as well, enough to take her mind off of her latest brush with being a Werewolf.

A certain set of books, however, has lead me to continually encounter Sheogorath's maddening 'trials', including a Clannfear named "Gutstripper." It surprised me to find out that that Breton that had followed me had ended Sheogorath's plot in Southpoint. A Tiger indeed. I do wonder how the old Mad God would have reacted if I had been the one there instead of her? As it stands now, however, the Queen's request for me to head to Elden Root stands, and my dear Rat of a companion has agreed to accompany me for a change.

I do hope we don't run into any Werewolf-Imp Hybrids. That would just be uncanny!


	4. Trial by Trinity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a Pact is Broken.

It was through sheer coincidence, Silica tried to reason, that she had run into these two people yet again.

The Bosmer from Khenarthii's Roost- Cal-un-something?- with his fancy magical summons (Though the Winged Twilight was somewhat cute.)  
and the Breton that had directed her to Brackenleaf. She introduced herself as "The Rat" Whatever that meant, even though the Bosmer called her "Argo."

Pure. Sheer. Unadulterated. Coincidence. Yuuup.

It really didn't help that they'd all been scooped up by completely different portals by the same Vinedusk Mage for some task that none of them had wanted a part of ( ~~Well, save for the Amulet that Silica had picked up that hissed angrily at her upon setting foot in town. That was more of a...convenient thing?~~ NOPE. No Coincidences here at all!), and neither did the fact that apparently, all three of you escaped from Coldharbour and the clutches of Molag Bal.

And so, as it happened after finishing up their mercenary business in Cormount... "HELP!" ...A Bosmer girl named Alandis came running up to them, looking as if she'd been attacked by Spriggains, Tigers, and Stranglers, Oh My! "The Forest's attacked Karthdar, I barely made it out of there..." Alandis explained. "Please, find Treethane Rolon! He should be in the cave to the north of here!"

And so began the Karthdar Objective.

The town was overrun with Spriggains, Tigers, and Spiders... with the occasional Strangler popping up for good measure, and slipping through was not an easy task, especially when the Bosmer Mage remarked, "The Forest is acting as if someone broke the Green Pact."

As if uttering those words was a signal, a group of Spriggains attacked them. The battle was as chaotic as anything any of them had ever been in, only alleviated by the company of others.

"I think I'm beginning to like teaming up!" The Rat remarked, prompting the Bosmer to laughter. Silica didn't agree with that, though she couldn't fault the Logic in the statement.

The Treethane was exactly where Alandis had said he'd be, inside a sacred cave just north-east of the village... And indeed, the situation was exactly as the Bosmer Mage had guessed.

"The Pact was broken with the cutting of the Sanguine Alendil, and until the Forest finds justice, any one of us who steps outside is risking death," Rolon explained. "Please, could you three search the village?"

"Sure!" The Bosmer and The Rat said in agreement before Silica could protest. She scowled, just another thing she was being dragged into. She was a Breton, she had nothing to do with the Green Pact. Why was she being asked to be an Advocate and search for the Pact Breaker along with these other two? Weren't they enough...? Wasn't *ONE* person enough?

But all things considered, this was their home, and Silica knew how it was when homes were broken outside of your own control.

So it wasn't with too much reluctance that she joined the search of the village, along with inquiring the villagers of what they knew.

"Starting off is Sendrair, She thinks it's the Spinners' Wife, Gathiel. And I quote, 'Real piece of work, always scheming, that one is,'" The Rat quoted as they left the cave. "Adding onto that is the sickness she recovered from suddenly. Which leads to Orchelos, who said Eranas 'is an alchemist. He claims to never use anything forbidden, but everyone knows that alchemists need lots of herbs to do their work.'" And she said it with such a perfect accent match that it surprised Silica. "His motive would have been to cure his wife, for sure."

"On the other paw, Naeldil says the Khajiit Merchant, Aranak, was sneaking out towards the cave the night the pact was broken," The Bosmer frowned. "But if he DID cut the plant, I don't know why the Forest reacted like this. It's usually forgiving of non-Bosmer pact-breakers," He said with a glance at Silica as she pulled up a small piece of Cotton plant from the ground.

"What?" Silica frowned, pocketing the plant for later use. "It's not like the forests' already mad as it is. What's the harm?"  The question was answered as another group of Spriggains attacked from out of nowhere, obviously in revenge for the Cotton.

Silica grinned as she let loose a Flurry of Blades down upon the Spriggains, slicing them to shreds with a speed that left The Rat and the Bosmer astonished to the point of whispering behind her back. The Khajiit of Kenarthii had taught her how to listen- and those two thought they were being silent? Hah.

"How can a girl that young be so skilled with knives?" The Rat asked. "I've never seen anyone her age with that kind of precision."

"I met her on Khenarthii just after the hurricane there, she was raised there, I think." The Bosmer replied. "It wouldn't surprise me if she trained at the Temple of Two Moons...But as for why she's out here... Molag Bal, obviously, but even so..."

"Too young?" The Rat asked.

"Too young," The Bosmer agreed, repeating those words that he'd said on the island..

Silica nearly froze up- the Bosmer had guessed that much about her? Why then, did he think she shouldn't be here? Too young?

TOO YOUNG?

She'd show them. Now was the perfect chance. She had to PROVE that she was old enough to be out here! They'd see then. They'd See for SURE.

Silica ran into town at a sudden burst of speed that caught her traveling companions off guard- and they hurried to chase after her. Unfortunately for those two, decked out in heavy armor, Silica was wearing medium and light armor, and had a speed advantage.

That speed did little when she tripped over a burnt-to-a-crisp cart and landed face first against an enraged Spriggain.

Silica was thrown backwards, into the ground, and found the Spriggain towering over her as its claws began weaving magic together for a summoning spell...

"KREEEAAAH!" In a flash of purple light- a Clannfear appeared!

Silica wrenched her eyes closed, bracing for the beast's attack... That never came in her direction. A mere second later, Silica's eyes opened to see The Clannfear roaring as it tore into the Spriggain, whose own summoning spell had been interrupted by the Bosmer's own spell.

"GET 'IM, CLANNY!" The Bosmer's voice roared out as a crystal shard flew over Silica's head, impacting the Spriggain and killing it, all but for a few minutes, with an explosion that tore off its head.

"Are you alright?" The Rat asked, offering Silica a healing potion.

"I'm fine," Silica turned it away. "I just tripped over something..." She looked down at an item near her feet, a lightning charred rock. "Think that's a Mystical Sign?"

"This is Aranak's cart, so I'd say yeah," The Rat nodded.

With the first of many pieces of evidence in tow, the trio searched the entire town high and low, finding an incriminating piece of evidence along with a mystical sign that, when coupled with the Witness Testimonies already gathered, told a telling tale to the trio of Soulless Ones...but the most telling was the Spinners Wife's journal.

And so, as they returned to the cave, they deliberated on a course of action.

"So you've returned," Treethane Rolon began. "What did you find?"

"We're going to go a bit unorthodox about this," The Bosmer said, placing an astrology chart and a journal down on the desk. "Before you is the Astrology Chart, showing that the Sign of the Lady was in full bloom on the night of the Pact breaking, and a Journal, belonging to the Spinner's Wife, Gathiel."

"My journal--!" The woman cried out in surprise, anger, and...fear.

"In it," the Rat continued, "she describes hiring an anonymous person," at this, she placed an invoice book on the table, "who we now know to be the Merchant, Aranak, to cut the Sanguine Alendil so as to not break the pact."

"It would have worked, too," The Bosmer continued on. "The Forest typically doesn't react to non-Bosmer pact breakers. However, because she was the one who hired him..." with a nod to her, Silica placed the burnt stone on the table. "The Forest knew. On the night he cut the flower, lightning struck his cart."

"...I Had no Idea the Flower was sacred!" The Khajiit protested. "I'm sorry!!"

"However," Silica coughed, "the story doesn't end there." As she spoke, The Rat carefully lifted a series of cut blossoms out of her bag, placing them on the table. "The Flowers were left in a spot for Spinner Eranas to find, where he then took them and used them to make a potion to cure Gathiel." Concluding that, Silica pulled out the Spinner's broken Sigil, and placed it on the table. "This is the Mystical Sign that occurred due to his potion making."

"I knew the flower might have been cut in a violation," The Spinner admitted, "but I found it! It was already cut! How was I breaking the Green Pact?"

"And so we call forth our witness," The Rat said loudly. "Neronnir!"

"What?" The Bosmer looked up in surprise. "Me?!"

"Come forth, Citizen," Rolon motioned for the Mer to come up. "What is your statement?"

"Well, I thought they all did it," Neronnir began. "It just sort of made sense to me. All of them, collaborating with one another, broke the Green Pact intentionally. The real question was why. I thought maybe they wanted the forest to attack us. To distract us from their real purpose? But thinking about everything those three brought forwards, it all makes sense now, doesn't it?"

"Gathiel's hope was that by going through such convoluted measures, the Pact would not be broken," The Bosmer Mage explained, "but the forest knew each of them had their part to play in breaking the pact."

"I see. So now the question is," Treethan Rolon mused, "who's the real Pact Breaker?"

Everyone looked at the three suspects. Aranak, praying to the gods that he would be spared. Eranas, looking sad and forlorn at his wife, Gathiel, who looked like a deer caught in a Strangler's vine.

"No idea then?" Rolon grimaced, "We'll let the forest decide, then."

* * *

And so, as the two Mer and one Khajiit were lead into the judgement chamber, Calum and Argo stood there, unsure of what to do.

"That worked out a whole lot better in my head," Argo began. "It really did..."

Then there was a scream- Gathiel's voice- followed by silence.

"Blood for Blood," Calum quietly intoned as the two survivors were lead back out, "It is done."

"I guess..." Argo turned towards Silica, only to find that she had slipped out unnoticed during the precession, not even sticking around to see the outcome of the trial. "I wonder if we'll run into her again?"

"We will. And when we do," Calum paused, "she'll have grown up. You don't put a girl like her through what she's been through without forcing that."

"It was her idea to accuse them all at once," she frowned. "I can't imagine what she's going through right now."

"Who knows." He shrugged, "With the way Tamriel turns in the heavens, I don't even think anyone can truly know what she's dealing with."

"By the way, I asked what animal she chose, back when we were in Cormount."

"Oh?"

"Tiger."

"With me as a Snake, and you as a Wolf?"

"Yeah."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Who knows, Traveler, who knows."


	5. Heated Flames

Death was not a pleasant experience, Silica mused as she teleported to the Mistral wayshrine.

Of all the experiences she'd had in her short life, no, that definitely was not a pleasant one. To feel her very body cease to function, and yet remain there, tied to the spot until she forced a resurrection... And then with a sudden lurch her skin mended and heart forced itself into life again... With a scowl, she checked the status of her armor and scowled at the many new tears, gashes, and arrow holes.

After a major fight involving several, lengthy, painful resurrections, Silica found it comforting to return home and see if things had changed... often times, she was thankful that they had not. Oh sure, there was the one time that the walls around Eagle's Strand had been torn down for use in repairs in Mistral and maintaining other temples, but otherwise the island was pleasantly locked away in time.

Silica walked towards crafting stations, passing by a Khajiit wearing nothing and proudly (or perhaps simply in a worsened state of clothing disrepair similar to Silica) showing off her (what only could be described as) Calico fur in the process. (Silently, Silica made a note to make sure it never got that bad for her own gear, if that indeed had been the cause of the Khajiit's semi-nuidity.) ((How could a cat be naked what with all that fur, anyhow?))

It was in the middle of sewing a random arrow hole closed on one of her boots that Silica heard a familiar voice speaking to her.

"I figured I'd run into you here."

Silica looked up to find The Rat looking down at her, holding a battered looking Khajiit heavy metalhelm under arm, while also wearing some Bosmer robes that looked brand new. "You did, huh?" Silica asked.

"Mm," Argo nodded.

"So?" Silica frowned, getting back to work on patching her gear.

"Well, I was recently tasked with something from the Fighters Guild-"

"Not a member."

"I know that. But I'd like your help with it just the same. Especially after you helped with the Orrery..."

"That was a freak coincidence and you know it. I was only supposed to be there for emotional support for Dareneth, and--" Silica screwed up her stitching and growled. "Siiiigh. Fine. What is it?" Silica asked, glancing back up at Argo, who was musing on whether her helmet could be salvaged or not.

"Molag Bal," Argo said simply, and then moved over to the black smithing station to destroy the helmet.

The whole place seemed to grow cold- most people's hearts skipped a beat and many people mistepped- nearly tripping in the process. All of that at the name.

Most of everyone ignored it.

But Silica was not most of everyone. "You have my attention," She began.

With a mighty blow- Argo crushed the helmet as flat as it's ruined shape would go- and she began, "My Guild Mates are going to attempt... something that could be vital to defeating his plans. I'd like you there to guard while we do that."

Silica thought it over for a moment- "Will I get paid?"

"It's Mercenary work, and even if my fellow Guild Mates don't like it, I'm willing to pay you out of pocket," Argo said as she tossed the helmet into the fire and waited for it to heat up and start to melt. "How much are we talking?"

"How much are you willing to spend?" Silica then pursed her lips and then added, "Honestly, I'd like enough to buy a new set of armor. Or at least buy the supplies to make my own."

"What style are we talking here? Argonian?" Argo asked, acutely observing what gear Silica had on at the moment. "Medium? Really?"

"It's what works for me. I don't die that often 'cause I can slip between attacks easier..." She said, resuming her sewing. "Plus, have you even TAKEN a stroll through most of Tamirel these days? It's getting to be summer: shorts and skin-baring armor are better than heavy armor that keeps all the sweat in, and Light armor just doesn't have the oomph to stop anything. I mean, it's just common sense."

"And what exactly got you roughed up like that?" Argo pulled the helmet out and began smashing the metal down into a more condensed form.

Silica scowled as she screwed up her repair work again. "Do you really want me to tell you?"

"Kinda?" Argo smirked as she put the molten helmet into an Ingot Mold, and then stuck the mold back into the fire.

"Fine. It was a Kwama."

"A Kwama put arrow holes in your armor?"

"No, A Kwama put the _cuts and tears_ into it," Silica corrected, "it was an bandit ambush that put the arrow holes in."

"Alright alright," Argo paused, then had to ask. "What were you doing handling Kwama?"

"Look, I was helping out this guy with a shipment of goods that was late and it turns out that it was infested with the bugs and I ended up having to take the crate full of hatchlings away from the worker who pretty much _**burst** _ out of the crate-" Silica stopped herself. "What does it even matter to you? Are you going to give me the job or what?"

Argo was impressed- suddenly turning the conversation back to the job that _she_ had offered as if it was _her_ that was the one holding back on it.

She pulled the ingot mold out of the forge, and then threw it into the water basin to cool down.

"You've got the job..." Argo blinked, "You know, I don't think I ever caught your full name?"

"Don't got one," Silica said, "it's just 'Silica.' But if you have to put something down, might as well add 'Knight'."

"Alright then."

* * *

 "Welcome to The Earth Forge," Argo greeted Silica as she stepped through the portal. "Location: Unknown."  
  
"A forge?" Silica raised an eyebrow, "Really?"  
  
"Hey, it works, doesn't it? At least in an ironic sense." Argo then turned towards a Redguard and a Khajiit. "Merric! Aelif! Good to see you two!"  
  
"Comrade!" the Redguard greeted, wearing classic black-smiting clothes. "Glad to see you alive and in one piece as well...Tell me, what news do you bring from Colors?"  
  
"Bad news, I'm afraid," Argo reported, "The Mortum Vivicus was not destroyed like we originally thought. Molag Bal simply pulled it into Coldharbour."  
  
"And what of the girl?" It was the Khajiit who spoke up. "Are you sure she can be trusted for someone so you--"  
  
Argo quickly made a silencing motion with her hands and shook her head rapidly in Aelif's direction.  
  
It was too late, Silica was already glaring daggers at Aelif- even as her fingers itched for the two sheathed blades at her side. "Young?" And Argo did a double take at the suddenly gritty tone that Silica was using, almost a perfect match for the same tone Aelif had just used-- "This one dares you to finish that sentence."  
  
Now it was Argo's turn to be amazed at such an accent match- of course, Argo had known that Silica had grown up on Khenarthii's Roost, a Khajiit influence heavy island, but given Silica's normal sounding speech until now, Argo hadn't been expecting the girl to suddenly revert.  
  
"You dare mock Aelif's voice?" Aelif inquired, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Mock nothing!" Silica's mouth twitched ever so slightly, showing her fang-teeth. "This one grew up with Khajiit parents! You expect anything less than that? Is it because this one's race is Breton that you think this one mocks?? Silica grew up under the training of the Temple of Two Moons, and doubts you could wield a blade as well as she wields two!"  
  
"Why you impudent little _**Kitten**_!" Aelif reached for her sword.  
  
"Woah woah, now," Merric interrupted the conversation before it devolved into a proverbial cat fight. "We're all friends here. I don't have a single doubt that our Comrade's insight is right on her skills. If Argo thinks-" A slight, barely noticeable pause- "Silica here can help guard the forge, then she's definitely got the skills to help us out."  
  
Aelif's tail swished side to side (and if she had been born a Khajiit, Argo swore that Silica's tail would be doing the same) "Mrrrr...Fine," Aelif backed down, turning away from the portal. "Aelif will guard the portal then."  
  
"Come on," Argo motioned for Silica to follow her, "let's get going."  
  


* * *

  
  
"I've never seen Aelif react like that before," Merric began as they hurried through the forge. "I don't know why she went off like that."

"This...." Silica took a moment to swallow and then forced herself back into a regular speech pattern, "I'm sorry. I just don't like people calling me young. That's all."

"And to answer Aelif's question," Argo began, "She's like me. Like you almost were."  
  
"Another of Molag Bal's attempts to power the Vivicus, then," Merric frowned. "This is not good."  
  
"No, it's not," Argo shook her head. "Calum's still out of it from going through the vision quest like that. I don't know what he saw in there, but if what Colors said is right, then Molag Bal's most powerful weapon is still in play."  
  
"Which explains why the Worm Cult pursued the Ancients like they did," Merric nodded. "Both weapons were well in play then, but now we have a chance to forge our own trump card."

"Which is?" Silica asked.   
  
"The Prismatic Blade," Merric said, "or something like that. Up until now, I never really thought about learning the name properly. I thought I was to be forging a symbol of our resistance, not an actual weapon."  
  
"It's a device that should destroy the Mortum Vivicus, the weapon that Molag Bal's preparing against us," Argo explained.

"What's with the Dark Anchors, then?" Silica asked.  
  
"We're not sure exactly how the Vivicus plays into all of this, honestly," Argo said. "All sources indicated that Molag Bal wishes to merge Nirn with Coldharbour, but the Vivicus? From what we know, it's basically a giant soul-bomb."  
  
"Back up plan in case the anchors fail? Or perhaps it's been re-purposed into the power source for the Anchors," Merric shrugged. "Whatever the case, the ancients died to prevent this from happening...And here we are, racing against the clock."  
  


* * *

The Forge was a massive room- as many Dwemmer forges are known to be.

It was a cave, filled with lava, and the temperature was nearly staggering.  
  
Argo, still in heavy armor, took a step back at the heat. "Woaah..."  
  
Silica smirked as she barely broke a sweat. "Told ya, medium beats heavy any day when it comes to heat."  
  
"faahhh..." Argo grumbled as she looked in her bag for a robe. "Give me a minute here... I'll melt myself if I don't switch to something cooler..."  
  
"I've prepared the forge, so we can begin as soon as you're both ready," Merric said. "Silica? Care to search the perimeter?"  
  
"Sure," Silica nodded, and carefully navigated the room- searching for weak spots and other potential spots for attacks.  
  
The metal under her feet was disconcertingly cool to the touch, even mere inches from the lava bed.  
  
"Dwemmer..." Silica frowned. Something was off.  
  
"Alright, ready," Argo called out as she finished adjusting those same Bosmer robes from before. "What are we doing here?"  
  
"You'll stoke the fire while I craft the blade around the core," Merric explained. "Use the bellows and the valve to increase the heat, or pour fire salts on the coals. If the flames get too hot, use the lever to vent some extra heat."  
  
As the two members of the Fighters Guild worked to craft the new blade, the nagging feeling that something was going to go wrong kept building.  
  
And then, as they neared the final stage, Silica finally looked at the metal beneath her feet, and read some of the Daedric text written on the metal. _'Molag Bal?'_ Silica's eyes widened. "Wait- Daedric in Dwemmer Ruins??"  
  
And then the walls exploded, even as Molag Bal's voice cried out, _ **"COLLECT THE BLADE AND BRING IT TO** _ ME!"  
  
All hell broke loose, and Silica's daggers came out of their sheaths- "HRAAAAH!" She leaped at the first wave of skeletons- smashing through them and scattering their bones in all directions- many of which landed in the Lava and burned away.  
  
Argo's Restoration staff was out, siphoning magicka from the Skeletons- but where were they all coming from?? There was a massive lava pool between them and the far walls...  
  
And then came a massive beast that resembled a dead and decaying Dragon Priest...  
  
 **"My Minions serve me EVEN IN DEATH!"**  
  
And then Silica died.  
  
She lay there for a few moments- wondering what had just hit her- and then she heard Argo and Merric yelling- and she Revived.  
  
Silica leaped out of the burst of light firing off one of her Ultimate level spells- spewing flames and molten rocks everywhere underneath the monster- her blades flew fast- furious- but this strange beast just seemed to have no end to it...!

And then Silica died. Again.  
  
Argo went down as well, and Silica's mental image of herself grit her teeth as she revived once more- at the same time as Argo- and together, they saved Merric from a death he could _not_ come back from.  
  
Silica felt her body pouring precious blood on the floor as she launched blade after blade into the monster that threw twice as much back at her...  
  
And then the beast died.  
  
Silica panted heavily as she felt her wounds healing up, slowly but surely.   
  
"Well..." Merric began, "That was as hairy of a fight as I've ever been in.... How **_in OBLIVION_** did they find this place!?"  
  
Silica just pointed at the floor where the Daedric runes lay hidden in plain sight and said, "Look for yourself."  
  
Argo looked over, read the runes, and then swore. "Same writing as on the Dark Anchors. How the hell...?"  
  
"I think..." Merric began, "we might have a traitor in our midst."  
  
"My thoughts exactly," Argo nodded.   
  
Silica just took the opportunity to faint from the strain of two consecutive resurrections.  
  



	6. Aspect of the Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Rat and a Traveler hunt.

Greenshade was a mess, I'll admit that much. Absolutely lousy with hunters and trackers who couldn't do their own damned job even if their heads were screwed on backwards.

As Argo and I traveled through Greenshade, seeking out dungeons, and fulfilling fetch quest orders, fighting bandits and what have you.... I've counted no less than four times now that we were asked for help by these hunters...

And as much as I wanted to tell my fellow Bosmer "No way, it's your job, we're not doing it," Argo would preempt me and agree to it. She would just wink at me and say 'I need the practice' whenever I asked why. And so three times in a row I followed Argo through the loose foliage looking for A Wasp, then a Mammoth, then a damned Multi-eyed Troll. And each time- upon returning with a head, a tusk and an arm, respectively- they would congratulate Argo's skills and while taking the credit for it, vaguely mention something about a "great hunter" who was last seen tracking a "Mythical Senche" somewhere I never wrote the name down of.

The fourth time, we were simply out searching for a monster of some kind terrorizing camping sites, nothing too elaborate or anything like that. Not even at someone's request. We were just out trying to kill it for fun/"the greater good of Valenwood."

And then we found a Bosmer, acting as if wounded despite his wounds being fully healed.

I didn't make the connection at the time, but the Bosmer said he was tracking a Senche, and that he had barely escaped its claws after it killed his fellow "Hound." He claimed "Physical wounds may heal, but the mental ones remain" or something like that. It was a peculiar way to say it, but of all of the hunters that had requested aid in tracking their "one beast" his was the one I felt the most sympathy for. It was the look in his eyes, honestly. Something about it reminded me of that Breton girl from Khenarthii's Roost. What exactly, I couldn't say... But it drew my sympathy just the same.

I didn't protest when Argo accepted the hunt.

We found the long rotted skeleton of that "Hound" lying nearby. How long had that Bosmer just been sitting there?

Argo set to work, but damned if she wasn't having a hard time about it. The tracks were older, nowhere near as fresh as the other sets. But somehow... Argo managed it. She would perform giant leaps across stretches of jungle, bigger paths than anything we'd done thus far, and when I asked how she knew, she'd explain how certain signs had remained better than others. This "Mythical Senche" must have been huge to leave such long lasting marks.

The path wound across the northern part of Greenshade in such a convoluted path that I had trouble following it personally. But then... we finally found it. A lion maned beast with white fur.

Argo set upon it with a ferocity that....

After slaying it, we started skinning it, but part-way through Argo tapped at my shoulder, and pointed straight ahead.

There, standing in the trees, was a ghostly stag. An Aspect of Hircine.

I was so caught up watching it that I missed anything that it had said, or perhaps, I never heard it to begin with.

By the time it vanished, mere moments later, Argo was shaking with fear.

We returned to the Bosmer, a long trek back, and showed him the fur. He explained to us that he had asked Hircine to grant him immortality while he hunted the Senche, at the cost of no rest until the hunt had been completed. The poor mer....

He passed on just after handing Argo his bow, eyes gleaming with a silver light from the fur.

We returned to Marbruk via Wayshrine after that, and found our way to the Inn.

"Hircine," Argo said finally after a drink, "God of the Hunt and probably the father of all Werewolves. And we saw his aspect."

It was common knowledge, that. But in respect to her frequent encounters with Werewolves in the past...

"There isn't enough ale in the world to make me forget this right now," Argo lamented, downing the rest of her cup. "But I'm going to try."

"Another round, on me," I said to the Altmer girl behind the counter, never once failing to notice how her eyes gleamed at the mention of the name. I glared in a way that made her understand, "Not a single word goes out about this."

Whether she knew me by reputation, or Raz had spent a night here in the bar at one point, I'll never know. She never did say a single word about any of that night to anyone...

But that's a story for another time.


	7. Auction of Style

Silica was wandering through Marbruk when a cry went out that a Live Auction was being held soon.

Her interest piqued, she waited in the plaza, and the crowd gathered and grew bigger the closer and closer the auction time drew near.

It was the first time Silica had ever been to an auction- be it at a house or outside such as this one- and she was excited just to see what one was like.

When the event began, the Auctioneer rattled off a price and it was quickly raised by everyone else. One strange item was even started with a price of only one gold and mere seconds later, sold for the price of 3500 gold.

Caught up in the flow of the Auction, Silica's eyes caught sight of the next item- a Hide Jack of Magicka of decent quality. She threw out a price- small at first- and then threw out another, double of the first, when she was outbid.

"Going once, 400...!"

For a few seconds, Silica was concerned- what if she actually won?

"401!" a voice thankfully outbid her...

"Sold for 401!"

And Silica sighed in relief....Only to have her name called out when that other bidder never came up to claim the clothing item.

Four hundred coin down the friendly Khajiit Auctioneer's pockets, Silica checked her purse, idly wondering how much she could actually spend at once. Almost Nine Thousand, just somewhat shy of it after that latest purchase.

And then came the Racial Motif Set- several books of designs and lore that would increase Silica's crafting knowledge reservoir.

Silica wasn't thinking at all when she threw out a high bid of two thousand. Nor was she thinking at all when someone else yelled out a higher price of Five....

And she called out "EIGHT THOUSAND!!"

Everyone stared at her in disbelief even as the Auctioneer sold her the set and called her up to claim the items.

* * *

At the local bar in Marbruk, Silica encountered a familiar face- that Bosmer who had also escaped Molag Bal's clutches- seemingly nursing a headache or a hangover of some kind- his arms also seemed to be wrapped up in bandages covering what appeared to be wolf bites. Ouch! Even so, Silica felt the need to prove her wise purchase to the Bosmer! Maybe now he'd see she wasn't too young to be out adventuring...!

"So you bought several racial motif books for eight thousand gold," the Traveler summarized as he observed the girl in front of him, looking all the world as proud as she could be.

"Yeah? So?" Silica asked, "I may be out of coin for a little while but it was still a decent purchase!"

"You do realize that people leave those things around most bookshelves and cabinets, right?" The Traveler asked. "I found most of these just traveling or trading Argo for them. They're not worth that much."

Silica fumed, "So what!? Just because YOU don't think they're worth it doesn't mean they aren't worth it to me!"

"You bought the set without checking what ones you already owned, didn't you?" The Traveler asked, taking a sip from his mug rather smugly.

"I- I TOTALLY **DID _NOT_**!" Silica yelled- practically breathing fire on the Wood Elf, her temper was so hot!

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Tsundere is strong with this one.


	8. At Personal Risk

You are Silica the Knight and you are flat out broke.

Your large purchase, while worth it, has left you scavenging Greenshade for monsters, quests, and anything you can sell to make a quick coin. Naturally, a good portion of that coin is going straight into your food reserves, and the next portion is going into your gear upkeep.

Unfortunately for you, you think that you're going to need to change your strategy of attack and change it quick.

Your dagger skills just aren't cutting it any more- and your bow skills... hah. If you could call them 'skills' that would be a laugh alright.

You are quickly realizing that your gear is getting tattered and broken quicker than you can repair it. Every time you die and resurrect, you're able to find less and less of the gear you were wearing before hand. Every dead body you drop and can't loot results in you having to go back to loot them, often times while their friends are coming back around and trying to do the same thing- forcing you to kill them as well and ending up usually dead in the process.

You don't dare ask for help- the Bosmer and his Breton girlfriend aren't going to let you live this down if you ask them. No. You can't ask.

And then your armor flat out breaks down on you- and you're as good as naked in the middle of a dangerous 'museum' that the Worm Cultists have invaded.

You luck out and find a dress on one of the cultists that's around your size. Evidently they were either attending a party before hand or were planning on going to one later, but not now. You put it on when you decide to leave, vowing to come back later to recover some artifacts you just couldn't sneak past the cultists to find, and go to return to Marbruk.

Along the way, you encounter a set of Stranglers and some giant Lurcher calling itself Rootwater. You kill the beast, but get bounced around between the stranglers like they can't decide who gets to eat you.

You teleport to Marbruk.

Almost immediately you see that damnable Traveler outside the wayshrine. Before he sees you, you let your hair down from its usual twin tails and hope that he doesn't recognize you.

Somehow- you luck out and he goes off elsewhere. You quickly get to the crafting stations and give out a hefty portion of your recent earnings back into repairing your broken gear.

And then you get summoned to the Harborage.

Oh joy. Another jaunt into Coldharbour to rescue another of the wayward companions from the Torture of Molag Bal. More damage to your freshly repaired gear. What fun.

Your inner voice is surprisingly sarcastic.


	9. A Surprising Leap of Context

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The signs of impending doom haunt.

You are <<Argo>> and you are tired of running into Wolves of any kind across your adventures.  
  
Sure, Greenshade had been a relatively nice break in the wolf department, filled mostly with Thunderbugs, Wasps, and various Plant types... But Malabal Tor? You are starting to wish you stayed behind in Greenshade. Alas, circumstances had brought you deep into the heart of the territory of someone called "the Hound" in your service of the Queen. Naturally- he happens to lead a good portion of the werewolf population in the area, and beyond that, werewolves seem to be a thousand times more common than any other zone thus far. (You've gotten quite adept at killing the feral ones.)  
  
But wolves kept haunting you, even after you left that cursed zone for a brief time to focusing on learning the skills listed in a new Racial motif book that The Traveler had purchased for your shared use (You are the one learning it as your blacksmithing skills were higher in level than his). As you were making your way past a ruin to search for some items to craft with, two wolves leaped over your head from on top of a root, chasing after something unseen and completely ignoring your presence.

It startled you, watching as they ran off, that they had done such a thing.  
  
When you returned to Velyn Harbor after that trip, you stumbled across a locked trunk at the docks. Out of an ingrained habit formed during your trip to open chests to seek out weapons and armor to deconstruct, you opened it, and found a leather hide jack inside.  
  
It smelled like wet dog, due to water having managed to get into the chest at some point.

Almost hesitantly, you had it's material looked into by one of the local clothiers...  
  
What else would it have been but werewolf hide?  
  



	10. Orrery Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which I (the writer) Reference a certain SAO/ZnT Fanfiction with the acronym "HalO"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.K.A.: How the Orrery Fight SHOULD have worked, but couldn't due to technical reasons. T_T

Conservator Daraneth frowned.  


The Orrery consoles were reading the improper energy levels for the process to correctly work.

"Hmm... I'm picking up some strange energy fluctuations from these controls," She turned to her companion, "Silica, dear, would you mind getting a direct reading for me if this keeps up? Rajiin's Mantle should keep you safe from any magical side-effects...just so long as you don't activate it for more than five minutes, I think."

"Alright," Silica nodded, "I'll give it a try." And with that, she knelt down to pick up the mystic artifact from Daraneth's bag. Rhajiin's Mantle was a powerful Khajiitii artifact that could allow the user to split into as many clones as they wanted. It had been collected in an attempt to use it for activating the Orrery itself, but due to it's inherent instability, it made its users go insane, and so had been put to the side due to an abundance of extra hands.

Silica glanced towards the two pillars in the back of the room, where the Rat and the Traveler were controlling the delicate Ayelid Machinery as best as they could. ....They both seemed strangely in synch somehow. Eh...probably after effects of the party the night before; someone had ended up spiking the punch and most people ended up waking up the next morning with barely any memories the night before, usually either in as little clothing as possible or none at all. And yet those two...

Silica shook her head as she slipped the Mantle on over her existing armor.

Those two had come waltzing in somehow strangely in synch and neither would say a thing about why.

"Annnd...Bridges are dropping!" Daraneth called out just as the bridges dropped down onto the stairwells with a THUD.

Queen Ayrenn seemed to snap to attention from a hungover haze, and she looked at the Orrery in surprise, "Is it ready?"

"I think so," Her brother, Naemon, remarked as he shuffled to his right somewhat.

"Hold up, everyone!" Daraneth called out, "We've got some stray power readings here. I just want to make sure these instruments are working properly, then we can begin." She nodded towards Silica, and Silica nodded back.

A quickly as possible, Silica made her way towards the stairs, as she did such, she looked to the Rat, who was conversing with the Traveler. A faint tugging at the back of her mind from the Mantle whispered to her, _"You fool, don't turn your back to them!! You'll be betrayed!"_

"Pft," She tried to contain her laughter, and it drew attention from below.

The Traveler looks up at her questioningly, and she shrugs.

The Rat just smiles encouragingly.

The Mantle was just trying it's paranoia tactics. Silica knew better than to listen.

"LOOK BEHIND YOU!!!" The mantle screamed.

Silica hesitated just a few steps to the top, and looked over her right shoulder.

Prince Naemon was throwing his hand into the air, casting a magical spell from his assigned spot at--- the bottom of the stairs leading from the podium?? "And now," He yelled, "the Aelyid Death trap will see if one of us here is worthy of being Emperor!"

Silica reached for her daggers- but a moment too late, a giant bubble appeared around her- and not just her, a second glance confirmed, but everyone else in the room!

"Naemon! What are you doing!?" Queen Ayrenn yelled out.

Naemon chuckled as he began climbing one of the other two stairwells. "Now now, sister, you don't think I'd let some young girl screw this up for you, would I? We need to test the Orrery to make sure it's safe!"

Ignore the young remark- "STOP!" Silica punched at the shield around her, "You Idiot! We don't know if it's stable! THIS IS MY JOB, NOT YOURS!!!"

Prince Naemon entered the Orrery, and he began to call out about seeing the White Gold Tower...! And then suddenly- his proclamations of victory shifted to that of terror as the Orrery spat him out onto a Transmutation circle that appeared on the floor- and then he was yelling profanities at his own sister and the Aldmeri Dominion, blaming her for what was happening to him and---  
"RROROOOAAAAHHHHH!H!!!!""

\---He emerged as a Giant Ogrim.

"USE RAJIIN'S MANTLE!" Daraneth yelled up to Silica, "YOU CAN'T BE HELD IN PLACE WITH IT!"

With a faint nod, and no hesitation at all, Silica focused on the Mantle, "Break this Bubble!"

"With Pleasure," The Mantle responded in kind, and with a roar- Silica popped the bubble around her.

Naemon was approaching the Queen, and the Bosmer King and his guards...!

"HAAAAAAAHH!!!" Silica leaped off of the stairs, and drove her daggers home into Naemon's back. Then, a sickening lurching sound, and she began sliding down his back at an incredible rate.

Silica planted her feet against Naemon's back to slow her descent, and then kicked off- backflipping with a grace she rarely showed and landing firmly on the staircase that Naemon had climbed.

":WRRAAAGGHH!! WHO DARES!??!" Naemon turned around, roarring and glaring at her with his transformed eyes.

"This one," Silica responded in kind, eyes narrowed, before she bolted up the stairs and towards the Orrery's nearest entrance.

Naemon was trying to climb those way too small steps now, but managing it.

Silica focused on the Mantle- and she SPLIT- leaping across from the entrance in two directions, one of her landing on the bridge she'd first tried climbing, and the other landing on the other bridge that had thus far been ignored.

Naemon leaped after one of her- the one to his immediate left- and that Silica leaped into a motion of daggers and kicks.

The other Silica reached into her bag of holding (also duplicated) and pulled out a Destruction Staff of some kind or another as she sped down the stairs.

" _ **Mahou**_ Shiori...!" With a chant of nonsense words that appeared in the back of her mind most likely from the Mantle itself, Silica drove the head of the Staff into the ground, " ** _SYTH CAITO_**!" With a burst of fire from the head of the staff racing along the ground in both directions- it hit the two bubbles around the Rat and the Traveler, and those bubbles somehow froze over and then shattered.

Immediately, the Traveler summoned his Twilight and Clannfear, and they ran off to join the other Silica in battle- who had already split up yet again and the new clone had switched daggers for long swords-- one of which was the sword "Snapjaw's Tooth", a sword that held a Clannfear's fang in its core. The poor Prince was suffering trying to attack one, only to get blind sided by the other. So on and so forth repeatedly ad nauseum--

Mahou Silica felt a hand placed on her shoulder- it was the Rat.

"You okay there?" She asked, concerned.

"I'll be fine," Silica replied, even as the other two her were assisted by the Traveler and his summoned pets.

"HEY UGLY!" The Traveler shot off crystal shards- knocking the blubbery mass of Prince flat onto his flabby ass.

The two blade wielders leaped onto him in a synchronized flury of action- six rapid strikes from each one-  Naemon roared- and tried to get up--

"NOT A CHANCE!" And the The Rat appeared over his head in a burst of teleportation magic and Slashed at his eyes with throwing knives.

Naemon roared yet again- and the three attackers on him leaped away as he rolled onto his stomach and climbed back to his feet....!

"SIPHON!" And then The Traveler and the Rat began draining Magicka from the Prince with their Restoration staffs- Mahou Silica chanted a series of words from the back of the Mantle's mind and threw an explosion of fire and ice at the Prince at the same time the Twilight sent a shock of energy his way and the Clannfear charged at the Behemoth's feet.

Prince Naemon tripped- and then as his face hit the dirt- Daggers Silica leaped at his neck from the side with a double swipe that dug the daggers in deep and refused to budge from the spot. Naemon threw himself up in a roar- Daggers Silica still holding on, the daggers twisting and causing fresh blood to pour out in droves-  and left the front of his neck exposed.

Swords Silica came flying in from off of one of the stairs and dove both blades deep into the Princes neck, and then with a savage roar--- The Rat slipped in, dove a series of blades into the prince's gut-- The Traveler let loose a bolt of Mage's Fury, lightning striking from above-- Mahou Silica fired off another explosion of ice fire-- Swords Silica wrenched them out and split the Prince's neck wide open, exposing his delicate innards and coincidentally freeing Daggers Silica up so that way she could---

"EAT CROSSBOW!!!" Out came that Silver Shard loaded Cross bow and _**BLAM!**_ immediately followed up by Mahou throwing a giant flaming chain up into the exposed neck and---!

There was an explosion of magic- and Prince Naemon fell to the ground as a dead Altmer- no signs of battle at all marring his body, as it should have been.

The bubble spell collapsed- and the Orrery fell silent, save for Queen Ayrenn's crying.

"Why? Naemon, _why...?_ "

* * *

"So," Daraneth mused, looking at the three identical clones of her friend, "we find ourselves in quite the conundrum."

"We really didn't think it through," Daggers said.

"Sorry," Mahou bowed her head.

"So how do we fix this?" Swords asked.

"I'm not sure how to, in all honesty!" Daraneth said, completely astonished. "You split yourself up into three identical clones! Surely you must remember which of you was the original now?"

"I kept daggers all the way through!" Daggers said quickly, "Therefore, it should be me that's the original."

"And I was the one who didn't split a second time," Mahou retorted, "doesn't that make me the original?"

"Ummm...By that logic," Swords held her hand up, "I'm the youngest for sure, so maybe everyone could jump into me?"

"That seems reasonable," Mahou nodded.

"But now the question is, HOW do we merge?" Swords asked.

"Ahhem," The Traveler coughed, "if I might make a suggestion?"

The three Silica's turned to glare at him in unison. "What?" they even spoke as one again.

"Maybe we use the Orrery to put the three of you together into one?" The Traveler offered, "There **are** three bridges, after all."  
"If we do that, however," Daraneth objected, "I suggest we wait and use this to our advantage first. All three Silica's should control the Orrery, and allow Queen Ayrenn a completely safe passage."

"Yeah." "Alright." "Sounds like a plan to me!"

The Rat just stared on without saying a single thing the entire time.

And so Queen Ayrenn's procession into the Orrery went off with out so much as a single misaligned hair.


	11. The Traveler's Bargain

"Butterflies!!! I want to see the butterflies!"

Sigh. _'Poor Valaste,'_ you look back at the woman who is being held still by your companion, Argo, then turn towards the spectral form of Shalidor. He is not happy.

You turn to Sheogorath, who is still grinning like a madman, and you consider his offer for a moment. A Book or the Girl's sanity?

Only the Mad God could come up with such a "bargain" like that.

You approach him to talk in whispering distance, sending an uneasy glance towards Haskil in the process. "Alright, Sheogorath, Let's talk."

"Ooo hoo hoo! I do so love it when mortals get such a determined voice to them!" Sheogorath ran his hands together, giggling as he did such. "So! What do ya want to know?"

"If I let you take Valaste..." You begin, speaking quietly so as not to alarm the others, "Will she be _Happy_?"

"As happy as an Argonian who was just gifted a swimming pool filled with hot Chocolate icecream sundays!!" Sheogorath replied. Whatever the hell a 'sunday' is....

You grimace, "Sheo, for the love of everything that is at stake here, PLEASE, just be serious for once in your life? Surely there's enough chaos inside that head of yours to bring up some _sanity_ for a simple conversation!"

Sheogorath seems taken back at your little outburst, which you managed to keep low enough that it didn't echo through the room, or at least managed to be covered up by the sound of burning books. You glance back, Argo seems uneasy at the way you tensed up, but with that barely bandaged wound on her neck from one of Haskil's attacks, she's not in any position to do any negotiating at the moment. You're not in any better shape either. Your left leg feels like it's been broken in three different places, and your right shoulder feels dislocated, but at least you can talk without tearing open a wound. Better make the most of the opportunity before the Mad God decides to make the entire room a swimming pool, or something...

"Alright, alright, I promise on me own head," Sheogorath said, holding a hand up to his heart, "I'll be serious for the duration of this _**very** _ important decision that you have to make. Just don't tell anyone, alright? I have a reputation to hold up after all!"

"Thank you."

"Will Valaste be happy in the Shivering Isles? Sure, sure!" Sheo's voice lowered to a near conspiratorial tone, one that You had heard many times during your book collecting "adventures", and you know that he is definitely being serious here. "I mean, who wouldn't be? It's a place of chaos and madness for all the insane folk like meself! And Valaste... Poor girl." he 'tisk'ed thrice. "Never had any friends but books. Even her relationship with you and ol' Shally over there isn't really all that 'friendly', after all. More business than anything. Shalidor DID send you after her to kickstart this whole mess, didn't he? Think about it. Would you even have spared her the time of day if not for that little quest that Shally sent you on?" For a moment, you think back and remember how many times you'd walked into that Guild Hall on Auridon, walked past her without saying anything. How you only ever had a chance to say anything beyond a brief 'hello' in passing until that fateful day you lost your soul- escaped Coldharbour- returned... and what is the first thing you end up doing for the girl? Business. Hunting Books. A Quest. If Shallidor hadn't appeared with that one certain book, told you to bring it to her...? You might very well have just ignored her after that.

"So if I have her cured, she won't be happy, will she?" You ask.

"Oh, sure, she might try to pass it off as 'yes, I'm happy as a rainbow!' But, you know what even makes rainbows? Thunderclouds. Rain. Such depressing things, really," Sheogorath took the opportunity to wave and smile at Valaste, who waved and smiled back with a "Hiiiii, Uncle Sheoooo!" Sheogorath sighed, even though he didn't appear to do such physically, "Well, that's how people are, really. Pretending that they're okay with something when they're very clearly not. It's why I do what I do, ya know? Sometimes all it takes is a little madness to bring someone's true feelings to the surface, and you know that nine times out of eight, they're usually better off for it!"

You consider it, looking back to Argo and Valaste with a tired look on your face. Argo tilts her head, grimacing slightly at the stretching of her neck bandages. You don't have a clue how she'd react to this, or what she'd say.... But the look in her eyes says that she's willing to support you in whatever it is you decide.

"Alright, Sheo, I'm going to make you a counter offer," you say suddenly, quietly, still in that same tone.

"A counter offer ya say?" Sheo's eyes shimmer and sparkle. Good. You've got his attention.

"I'll take your damned book, you take Valaste to the Shivering Isles...."

Sheogorath cuts you off, "I KNEEW IT! I knew you wanted the book!" He says it loudly, the whole room can hear. "I saw it in your eyes!"  
"HOWEVER!" You yell just as loudly, and narrow your eyes, "II find out that if she's not happy there- if Valaste has been hurt in **_any_** way... Sheogorath, I am coming straight to the Shivering Isles to get her back, and I'll give you your damned book right back in exchange for her sanity." You poke your finger at his chest- and he stumbles backwards. "Do you understand me? I'm not doing this for your thrice damned 'Book-o-Insights,'" You say in your best impersonation of the Mad God, then lower your voice to a dangerous tone while still keeping the audio levels loud enough to be heard. "I'm doing this for _**VALASTE**_. As the friend I should have been the entire time. Do I make myself clear?"

Sheogorath's eyes narrowed at you dangerously, as did his voice. " _Perfectly._ "

* * *

Shalidor is mad, to say the least. He doesn't understand why you did what you did, but even so, he grants you the spell of Infinite Recall. "Perfect Memory" Or something like that. You don't care.

"So...what are you going to do with the book?" Argo asks, once her throat wound is healed up enough to let her talk without too much trouble. Might have been easier just to throw yourselves off of a cliff and let everything heal up properly at a wayshrine.... but there will come a day when you won't be able to do that. Might as well get used to letting things heal up naturally again.

"Cold storage," You reply. "It's my insurance policy for Valaste's sanity. I was being serious when I said that I'd charge into the Isles to get her back if I find out she's not happy."

"And how are you going to do that, I wonder?" Argo asks.

You smirk, "I slipped a tracking spell on her, one that a familiar I'll summon can trace back to the isles so that way it can keep an eye on her. If something happens, I'll know."

"Sheogorath's going to be mad about that," Argo replies.

"But he'll keep his word," You say, "somewhere deep down, I think he actually cares for Valaste. Might have set up this entire gauntlet just to get her away from the life she was living..." With a sigh, you shake your head and mutter something about sanity being overrated.

Argo grips your hand with her own, and smiles at you silently. You grip back and together you look out over the ocean as you watch the sun set over the ocean's horizon.

"Maybe it is," She says after a moment. "Who knows with the way this world is right now..."

You continue to sit and watch for a few minutes when you hear a familiar set of foot falls running towards you.

Both of you look down towards a staircase to see Silica running up towards you from the Wayshrine, a bow rests on her back.

She seems panicked, and yet determined.

"ARGO!" She yells, "Merric finished it!" With a bit of a slowing pace, she comes to a halt, and pulls the bow off of her back to hold it up. The way the light hits it from the setting sun almost makes it seem to radiate a rainbow of color.

Idly, as Argo and Silica converse, you chuckle to yourself.

Seems Sheogorath was wrong about one thing. Not all rainbows come from thunderclouds and rainstorms.

 


	12. Concerning Guild Structure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You heard that sound, didn't you? Don't lie. You know the one I'm talking about.

#  **LOREBOOK DISCOVERED** : Concerning Guild Structure

_(Don't worry, It's Argo's Official Report, sa!)_

It is my hope that with the publication of this report that the people of Tamriel- both civilians and those new recruits to their respective Guilds- will be able to understand the events that caused such a radical shake up in the Fighter's Guild structure.

\---  


My name is Argo the Rat, and I am writing this report to set into words the month-spanning events following the [Daedric invasion in the Earth Forge](http://calskyrimjournal.wordpress.com/2014/05/30/heated-flames/), during which we had attempted to craft a weapon that could prove useful to foiling a certain Daedric Prince's plans. Depending on when you read this, it may surprise you to learn that Molag Bal, the Daedric Prince of douchebaggery- and yes, I know that is not his official title- has been attempting to merge our world (Nirn/Tamriel) with that of his own realm (Coldharbour). We of the Fighter's Guild have been working tirelessly to fight off his Dark Anchors and foil Molag Bal's plots where-ever they may surface.

It may also surprise you to learn that Molag Bal has also been capturing souls of many thousands, but to what end and for what purpose? At the time of writing this, we still do not truly understand what the Mortum Vivicus was intended to be used for, and we may now never learn, as the device has been destroyed with no hope of recovery. All that we know is that the souls he captured have been fed into a device that looked superficially like a giant glowing mass of energy. Our Ancient Elf ancestors whose ruins span all of Tamriel once fought against this device, and nearly succeeded in destroying it.

At the time of our attempted crafting of the Prismatic Core, a mercenary friend of mine who I had hired for the job discovered Daedric runes seemingly copied from the Dark Anchors engraved into the floor mere moments before Molag Bal's undead forces raided the Earth Forge. Together, she, I, and Merric at-Aswala managed to fight off a summoned Lich Queen, and prevented the Prismatic Core from falling into Molag Bal's hands. Upon closer inspection of the runes, we discovered that they had been recently carved into the metal work that was the floor, and that someone who had done it must have been someone in the Fighter's Guild itself.

Soon, we were confronted with another shocking development- the previous Guild Master, **Jofnir Iceblade** , appeared before us as a ghost, and declared that he had been murdered- but before he could say who, his spirit was whisked away. Aelif- a close companion of Merric's- was chosen to run the investigation into the murder. Soon after these revelations, however, the then-current Guild Master, Sees-All-Colors, vanished. Suspicion soon fell upon her, even before Aelif summoned Jofnir's spirit, and interrogated him for answers, revealing Sees-All-Colors as the culprit.

In combination with the discovery of sabotage, her actions were previously suspect, having fallen into an altercation with my mercenary friend that seemed out of character to most of us in the Guild.

A plan was crafted, Aelif would open a portal to track Sees-All-Colors, after using another summoning spell to get the location out of Jofnir's spirit. It should be noted at this time, however, that each time his spirit was forced to appear, rather than forcing himself to appear, Jofnir seemed.... angry. Almost as if not himself. Or even perhaps still under the control of another being. And even as he attempted to impart what I considered to be crucial information regarding Sees-All-Color's motives, his spirit was dispersed.

The Prismatic Core was inserted into a weapon, and we took it along with our trip to search after Sees-All-Colors in assumption that she was an agent of Molag Bal and was intentionally sabotaging the Guild's contract to hunt anchors. Merric, Aelif, Myself, a Bosmer from the Mage's Guild, and my Mercenary friend traveled into Molag Bal's realm to hunt Sees-All-Colors down. There- our then-current Guild Master revealed that she was a servant of a Daedric Prince, but not the one that we had been lead to assume.

Meridia. Beacon of light- vanquisher of necromancy and darkness- as "Good" of a Daedric Prince(ss) as you'll ever find- and the "Mysterious Benefactor" of the Dark Anchor contract.

Sees-All-Colors was, it turned out, a priestess of Meridia, and had been leading the hunt to halt Molag Bal's plane-melding plans. The current stage of destroying the Mortum Vivicus was foreseen by our then-current guild Master in a vision- leading her through a complex path through Oblivion to that moment in which we had followed. Our then-current Guild Master had only arrived mere moments before we had.

It was then that Aelif's true colors had been revealed- as we had suspected after the 'befouled' attempts to summon Jofnir's spirit- she was a true agent of Molag Bal, and had been working to sabotage our efforts the entire time, unknowingly helping us by leading us after Sees-All-Colors as she hunted the Vivicus. A battle ensued- Aelif's corpse lay on the ground as a twisted mockery of her former self, and the four of us, plus Sees-All-Colors, returned to the Fighter's Guild to explain all that had transpired to the Guild Council.

\---

At the time of publication, Sees-All-Colors has been made the Guild's "Light" regarding all maters Daedra, and is to advise our Guild Leader, Merric at-Aswala, on all matters Daedra.


	13. Familial Ties

The plan to invade Coldharbor was set to start any day now, that much this one knew fairly well.

The Rat and the Traveler; both of them wanted all three of us to charge into it together, and after the success of destroying the Mortum Vivicus... well, this one will admit she still had some reservations, but even so... This one agreed to join in on that plan.

The only way that such a plan could be pulled off was to get the three Alliance leaders to agree to the Mages' Guild and Fighters' Guild entering alone. Working out the logistics of such a meeting would take some time, however...and it was during that time that the Rat made a startling declaration.

"I'm tired of running from Hircine," She said one night while we were in a small bar in Dune, a town to the eastern edge of Reaper's March that had recently been attacked by Daedra.

"You mean...?" The Traveler seemed concerned. This one will admit that she felt...left out of some unseen detail. Hircine was the lord of the Hunt, but why would such a being be hunting the Rat?

"I'm going to find a shrine and flat out confront him," she declared, leaving many words unsaid that made the Traveler uneasy.

"Alright," He said, "but we're going with you in case something goes wrong."

And so, through fate or coincidence, on the night of the full moons, Jone and Jode shining down brightly from above, the three of us went to the nearest shrine of Hircine. What luck would have it that there was an Altmer woman waiting for us. This one was surprised, however; she recognized the woman as a simple bar-tender from a town back in Marbruk.

"You're sure you want to do this?" Were the first words out of her mouth upon seeing the Rat.

"I need to do this," was all that the Rat replied, removing her armor even as the Traveler held this one back at a 'safe' distance. There were questions this one had, that were quickly answered...

Before This One's eyes, the Altmer seemed to explode as her body transformed with a roar and a howl- becoming a mighty werewolf in the span of an instant- chomping her mighty jaws down on the Rat, and sending blood everywhere.

And then This One understood absolutely Nothing.

* * *

The Traveler explained, that since escaping Coldharbor, the Rat had been pursued by the Wolf- the beast within- from a skull of the hound in a cell, to the strange behavior of various wolves across the Aldmeri Dominion, and even being able to confront so many werewolves on her own without being transformed by their many bites and scratches.

The werewolf that had done the deed had even remarked how hard it was to infect the Rat in the first place- having had to cause so much damage and to loose so much blood before the infection took hold... And once it had, the Rat had picked up a scroll from thin air, read it, and then vanished into a portal.

The Traveler said, "She's tired of fighting off Hircine at every turn, so she's gone to face him..." as if it were some mundane confrontation between her and a Bandit. "Either she comes back and asks me to cure her, or she comes back and we use this against Molag Bal."

"That's her reasoning?" this one had asked.

"Before we came here, she told me that if this Werewolf haunting is a sign of things to come, she would rather take the choice willingly rather than be forced into it," He answered. "And if Hircine can explain away why she's been haunted by these signs... if it's _not_ his doing..."

It took an hour before the portal opened again and the Rat stepped forwards, clad in the same armor as before, and yet somehow seeming completely different. It wasn't a change to the armor itself, this one understood then, but simply the way the Rat wore it. The way she walked, the way she held her body...

And then she hugged this one and the Traveler both- and with barely a whisper, said. "I was born with it."

Five words that said thousands more.

* * *

The Rat thanked the werewolf that had bitten her, and then we left, even as the wolf slipped away into the forest to hunt down some unfortunate tigers.

As we mounted our horses, and headed back to Dune, the Rat told her tale.

"My parents were werewolves when my mom got pregnant with me. They cured themselves when they found out, wanted to raise me normal..." She sighed. "Hircine said that I kept enough of the wolf in me to be considered a werewolf by others, but not actually enough to transform, not even enough to be detected through those wolf tests of yours either. It was a spiritual infection, not a physical one, which is why I couldn't get accidentally infected. I had to get bitten intentionally- I had to allow it to happen...  So whatever Molag Bal stole from my soul was suppressing that small part of  it in me. Without it, the wild began to call out. Which was why everything started to point towards that one result."

"So what now?" The Traveler asked.

"Hircine gave me the full transformation," The Rat replied. "I'll have to work to control it... to get used to everything that being a werewolf entails... But I'm going to use it against Molag Bal. When we go to Coldharbor, I'm going to take the wolf inside, and I'm going to rip apart his plans with my own claws and teeth. I'll make him regret stealing what he did, because he's unleashed a monster he can't put back into the box."

"I meant about your parents," The Traveler sighed. "Are you going to tell them?"

This one caught the somber look in the Rat's eyes. Sadness- grief- something she was holding inside having learned about this part of her family history...

"About twelve years back, I was at a school distant from home, and they were coming to visit me, said they had a surprise for me..." She admitted. "They never showed up. I'm pretty sure they died in an accident of some kind, but I never learned what way they were traveling to come see me, so I haven't been able to investigate and find out for sure..."

"Oh-" The Traveler sent an awkward glance my way. Hah. No way. This one shook her head. After the way this one grew up... no, he couldn't possibly be thinking. "Silica, how old are you?"

No. No No no noooooo NO WAY.

"You can NOT be serious," This One replied. "Just because I'm a Breton too and just because I lost my parents to a thrice damned _Boating accident...!_ "

"How old were you when you were found on Khenar--"

"Calum, let it go," the Rat said. "It doesn't matter. Not right now." she looked up at the moons. "We have a mission to take care of now. We've got to take down Molag Bal and once we do that... then we can worry about whether I have a long lost sibling or not."

 


	14. Past, Present, Future

The state of affairs was horrid, I'll say that much.

Convincing the alliances to agree to this stunt? That had been easy. It was the part that came after that was hard.

Argo, Silica, and I had entered Coldharbour- separated much like everyone else was when we leaped through that portal- and found ourselves fighting to gather together again. Three different corners of Coldharbour, three different people. Except, maybe not so different? We each met a crazy "Knight" called Cadwell, and he directed us to a city. The Hollow City.

We reunited there, and gathered our forces together. Such a rag-tag group of people, that. But there were still others missing, others that we went out in search of. Well...for a certain three Mages from the Mages guild, we found them...but not first. A Daedra named "The Overseer" or "Observer" or something nonsensical like that. He pitted us against each other- resigned us to serve under three specific people who had "Failed" Molag Bal in the past. One of them was the "Veiled Queen" herself. Argo had the lucky pleasure of working with her. Silica? The Worm Cultist. Me? I got the "Tentacle man" as the Breton mage, who had gotten stuck with him as well, called him.

In the end, we couldn't simply walk away from these mages- all three of us had made a deal with the Daedra that ran this place that we would get everyone out alive.

He didn't like that.

And so here we are. A Wolf, A Snake, and a Tiger, standing at ends to each other, blades drawn in preparation to strike the other down.

"He doesn't know we'll just resurrect, right?" Silica asked.

"Nope," Argo shook her head. "Nearest Wayshrine should get us out of here, and right underneath his nose."

"Well then, shall we?" I asked.

And with that- the three of us drove our weapons into the heart of the person to our immediate right.

* * *

 

Something happened. I don't know what. But the next thing I knew, I was looking out through a Bosmer's eyes, watching as events moved in fast forwards, slowing down momentarily for critical moments, before speeding on ahead again.

I realized in a flash of a reflection- these were Calum's memories.

Brackenleaf- the old tree... and then... darkness. The moment of his soul being taken... And then I saw myself- standing in a small pond somewhere on Khenarthi's roost as I washed off some Alit blood from my armor. I remember that... That was just before we met. It was just a passing glance, and a stray thought of, "Breton? Must be a stranded sailor from the hurricane." Then fast forwarding again- we fought together against the Maomer....

* * *

I was looking down at myself as she begged to accompany someone. Those eyes I was looking through now... They had to be the Traveler's...

The world ran past- a blur of motion and memories and... a werewolf? An Altmer, Sorondil, transformed before my....no, the Rat's eyes.

Twin tails of a single story- interweaving, dodging, tangling.

Why was it changing so quickly?

I saw myself from two perspectives- shared memories of that moment we displayed evidence to the Bosmer whose village was under attack by the forest.

Grahtwood- Greenshade- Malabal Tor- Reaper's March- so many stories and tales interweaving.

And as I watched their perspective of myself... I realized that they'd grown to accept that I wasn't too young to fight by their side. That same moment that we all stepped through that portal...

I felt a connection to them now.

Was it fate? The Scrolls? That brought us together?

Regardless- the three of us balanced each other. We could overcome anything by working together.

* * *

And then the trio emerged in a brilliant blossom of light- the Overseeing Daedra spun on his heels- "What in--?"

And then three wild animals leaped out at him- a Snake, striking out and breaking open his chest armor; a Tiger, clawing fiercely at the exposed Daedra's chest, ripping skin and muscle and bone away; and a Wolf...no, a Werewolf, whose mighty jaw dove into the Daedra's chest and bit down deep.

And that was all that Daedra knew before his existence was snuffed out with a burst of light- his "Game" ended abruptly with it's players rescued.


	15. Defying the God of Schemes

The Planemeld had been halted.

It had been a thoroughly tiring affair, comprising of a war, many sacrifices, and the net result of days of hard work without much sleep.

It had begun with a raid across a bridge that could only be crossed with portals- and at the spearhead was Argo building up her werewolf transformations and tearing holes in the Dremora ranks- progressively maintaining the form for longer and longer periods of time and causing even more havoc along the way. At one point she even managed to hold it going through for a whole thirty minutes- brazenly charging into the Daedra lines the whole time while standing on the back of her horse and slashing away at any daedra that dared get in her way. (It impressed the Last Ayleid King to the point of staring slack jawed. So there's that.)

And then the point of no return came about. A small strike team went in to destroy the Planar Vortex while Molag Bal was distracted by the army. But you...you just couldn't stand the thought of leaving the brave Guilds there fighting the "Distraction" alone. So...you and Silica stayed while Argo plowed on ahead to destroy the vortex.

It was a blood bath- people nearly died, and very well would have had you two not been there... Time seemed to hold no meaning.

And then with a burst of light- you all found yourselves in Tamriel...no, not Tamirel proper- but a place between Nirn and Coldharbour.

The three of you reunited, and then you were told that Meridia had a task for you all by the Daedra herself. Destroy the anchors there, end the meld.

In the end- you aren't sure quite what happened. But the three of you channeled the powers of the Light of Meridia through your bodies and with a mighty explosion, the Planemeld was ground to as near of a halt as could be managed.

The three of you were tired- to be sure- and despite all of your best efforts, people had died. Good people.

And then an image of the Prophet appeared before Silica, checking in to see if everything was alright, and you quickly realized that you had an opportunity.

Molag Bal would surely be weakened- having taken the full brunt of that holy fire explosion to the face... You could go and finish the job.

Those Companions were surprised when Silica brought Argo and you in, and so "The Five Companions" as a name was discarded.

Together- you traveled into Coldharbour once more, Molag Bal's sanctuary, and you found the bound Mannimarco.

It was then that Silica had an idea. "We use him to power the amulet."

Argo agreed in an instant, as did I.

Our executioner to be executed. What wonderful irony.

Those Companions seemed relieved at the idea- none of them would be sacrificed.

You bound Mannimarco with a spell of your own doing as Silica smashed the rune binding him.

You stood in a circle- the three of you- and you took on the full power of the Divines as Abnur Tharn used the Amulet of Kings on Mannimarco and divided his soul.

The three of you stood transformed- powers of a god between you- and you ran head first towards Molag Bal.

"These daedra that guard him may as well have been mewling kittens!" Silica laughed- merely kicking a Seducer in the knee and destroying it in a burst of flames.

Argo transformed into a wolf- yet did not at the same time- and obliterated whole masses of Molag Bal's guards.

You simply threw a bolt of lightning- and also chuckled as your summons powered through their opponents like they were powdered cheese.

* * *

Molag Bal? Brought to his knees.

"You know," Argo began- a single knife in her hand turning into a great sword, "we really should thank you for this."

"We three may never have met if we hadn't escaped from that prison of yours," A smirk from me as my staff glowed brightly, shifting into a spear.

"So yeah-" Silica smiled as her daggers began glowing and shifting into twin swords...! "We'll be taking our souls back now."

And with a roar- the three of us attacked as one.

Molag Bals' head went flying from Silica's strike- his torso split from his waist by Argo's attack and then sent flying from my own attack.

And then the God of Schemes exploded.

* * *

The three of you lay out on the beach of Auridon well after that battle had ended. A well earned rest was in order before you began your next mission, one given by Cadwel and Meridia of all people.

You would take on the other alliances and all their troubles one day at a time....but as a team. Unity. That was the key to stopping whatever dark threat came next.

 


	16. Rest and Recovery

Faraniel was a Bosmer who, you were fairly certain, had been born in that dreadful place called Coldharbour. The way she looked at the skies of Nirn, the way she simply stared at how clear the water was... and that it was actually water, and not that plasmatic goop that Daedra seemed to be formed out of.

Her tribe had been held in Coldharbour for so long that they cared little for anything but their given task: Protecting their "Forest" from "Invaders" such as Lamias, or even... It had been your luck to land there in the middle of their forest, along with some Fighter's Guild members who you tried your best to keep alive. Faraniel had been the only one of that "Shadow Tribe" of bosmer to try to help you- the others just wanted you dead. The Lamias helped your group out as well, having their own bones to pick with that village, but in the end it was really Faraniel's request to not kill her fellow Bosmer except when necessary that made you realize how different she was from the rest of them. She was young, and optimistic, maybe a bit like you in terms of eagerness to right a wrong...but the village elders refused to listen to reason, and attacked almost immediately as soon as you tried to tell them they should leave the village for the safety of a City that Faraniel had said existed to the east.

By your daggers- a matching set that Razum-dar had given to you before the Coldharbour mission had even begun- you slew one elder who had come after Faraniel personally; and along side the Lamias, who had begrudgingly held back in attack until the 'negotiations' had fallen apart, your whole group ended the fight there within a minute.

Seeing those elders had been a sobering experience for Faraniel, you realized when she, you, and the Lamias followed Sir Cadwell to the Hollow City. It was all something new for her, you knew, but at the same time she'd remained eerily silent. She had gathered her resolve, of course, come the time to take the fight to Molag Bal- and she had her own personal vendetta against him for bringing her village to his realm in the first place.

But after the war was over, and through some miracle she had survived the entire encounter alive (You'd like to think you had some small part in that), she really had nowhere to go, and you found her wandering through the Hollow City aimlessly.

And so you'd offered her a tour of your home Island, Khenarthii's Roost. If there were any better place to begin a new life after escaping Coldharbour, it was there.

Faraniel had been nearly overwhelmed, at first, by the sights and smells and wonders of the island. She had so many questions of everything that you likened it to that of a newborn cub first experiencing the world. You wondered how old she was, given that Coldharbour seemed to be a timeless place of sorts. Only a decade? A century? Three weeks (That would have been quite the confusing revelation had it been true)?

In the end, though, you realized that it was impolite to ask, and so kept your mouth quiet.

That still didn't stop her from asking **_you_** how old you were when you told her that you'd been rescued from a Hurricane.

"Not sure, exactly," you replied. It was a question that had been haunting you since Argo's revelation of being a full-blooded Werewolf. "I was rescued from the wreckage of the crash when I was still fairly young- probably at-least a year old. Nobody had seen a baby breton on the island before, and since no records survived, my parents raised me assuming I was at least a year old, and my birthday was the day I was rescued."

"I see..." Faraniel replied. "Must have been wonderful to grow up here. It smells so nice..." She took a deep breath of the air. "Like...paradise."

"It was less paradise and more home," You replied. "Everything wild wants to kill you. Alits, Thunderbugs, Skeevers-- but especially the Harpies." You then take the time to warn her, "Don't let their looks fool you, they'll claw your eyes out if you give them half a chance."

"Sounds like the Winged Twilights," Faraniel chuckled.

Silence fell among you for a bit before you said, "I'm probably either thirteen or fourteen-" Or twelve. But you really don't want to even think about being  _ **THAT**_ young. Because if you  _are_ then you're most likely-- "but with how screwed up Time is in Coldharbour, I've just about given up trying to keep my age straight. I think I even stopped aging for a while there, so what does it even matter anymore?"

"Coldharbour's 'screwed up time' hm?" Faraniel mused. "Y'know, I don't even think we counted time back in the village. The days just seemed to blur one into the next."

"That is true," You nod. Coldharbour only ever seemed to have a sun inside the Hollow City's walls, and even then, on a schedule that made no sense.

"So, Silica, what next?" she finally asked after some silence.

"What do you mean?" You asked back.

"What is your next move? What is mine? Wandering around this world for a life time, trying to see what there is to see? Do we find places to settle down?" It was a reasonable line of questions for people such as ourselves. People who had their lives turned over into a mixing vat and swirled around until they no-longer resembled what they originally were.

"What to do?" You looked out over the water towards the horizon. "I guess we'll figure that out one day at a time."


	17. Poisonous Intent

I'd like to think that I'd grown somewhat competent at spotting false Plagues after the incident at Phaer.

After arriving in Desshan, it became rather obvious rather quickly that the "Maulborn" were not quite as 'helpful' as they intended. And so we'd helped.

The four of us, us formerly soulless three plus the Bosmer girl from Coldharbour, Faraniel, who had decided to accompany us for the time being, were gathered in our rented room at the local inn, after helping the second town in that region deal with these pests. It was after the time that most of us were ready for sleep, but only our tag-along and Argo had actually fallen asleep when Silica voiced a simple question: "Why?"

"For some people," I began, "it's personal. A son who's been turned into a vampire, and so a 'plague' is made to feed him, with a 'preventative' to draw in new stock. In this case? Making mindless husks and spreading plague through a 'curative'?" I shrugged. "I can't say for sure. It could be they're working for a Daedra. Or some damned Cult. Or hell, maybe even some bastard thought it'd be amusing to make an entire zone sick."

"So basically," Silica mused, "the world sucks even when a Daedric Prince isn't threatening everything?"

"We won't really know what's going on with this until we find this Vox person and ask 'em," I replied. "For now though, let's try to get some sleep. We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

"Alright."


	18. A Requested Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silica contacts Hircine.

In Malabal Tor- just outside of the former village of Tanglehaven- was a small shrine to Hircine. A Bowl full of mystical energy.

Argo had told her about it some time before, but Silica had never given it much thought until now.

Too many questions floated about in her mind- but one needed answering right now above all others.

With Faraniel behind her, bow at the ready to fend off any monsters or Draublog who might attack, Silica knelled down at the shrine and prayed.

"Hircine- Lord of the Hunt- I ask a question of you that I believe only you have the answer to," She spoke quietly, but at this shrine, in the echos of the night time forest, the words were louder than she'd hoped.

The bowl began glowing brighter, and a voice echoed out, _"Ah...a pup seeks an answer from Hircine? But you are no mere pup, now are you?"_

"No, I'm not." Silica shifted into a more comfortable sitting position, getting the feeling that this would be a long conversation. "A while back you helped a friend of mine, Argo. She came back with the knowledge that her parents had been werewolves before she had been born."

 _"Yes, I remember that girl. One of the ones tainted by the God of Schemes... Like you, I sense that she has collected her soul again... And is that...?"_ there was a sniffing sound from the shrine- an oddity that had Faraniel covering her mouth to prevent herself from laughing. _"Yes...I sense_ Meridia's _light within you. Although...that Bosmer behind you. She smells...tainted in some way. Not in the way of you who had lost your soul, different, yet similar just the same._ A shadow, _if you will. A shadow for a light. How amusing!"_ Hircine laughed. _"But enough of that deviation... You had a question, yes? What is it?"_

"I want to know...am I Argo's sister?" Silica asked. "Are my parents...were they Argo's?"

_"Ahh...a question of lineage. You seek to know your roots- your sires- to know if your littermate has been your companion this entire time?"_

"Yes," Silica nodded."I...it's something that's been bugging me for a while. Ever since Argo came back, and when we went through Coldharbour... there was a time when the three of us shared memories and I...I'm not sure if the memories I saw were truly mine, or hers."

 _"Yes, this is quite the question indeed... a Hunt of a different sort than what I am used to, but a Hunt nonetheless..."_ Hircine mulled over the question for a moment. _"I will offer you...a_ Choice. _A trial, of sorts, to judge of your true desire for this knowledge."_

"What kind of trial?" Silica frowned.

 _"There are those among my children who have decided to abuse the Gift I have given them._ **Selling** _their jaws to the highest bidder. Those who would make money off of those who truly seek my Gift."_ Hircine's voice sounded disgusted by the thought. _"It is not the kind of Hunt I created. It is wrong. Perverted mechanics by those who sided with the God of Schemes. The Gift should be given_ **freely.** _Not sold like some common item up for bid **At Auction!"**_ Hircine's disgust had turned into rage. _"With the defeat of Molag Bal's plans, those traitors have since began working for their own ends. Filling their_ **Pockets** _with gold that had once been intended to finance other things... Greed. They formed a Guild- a coalition working alongside even those **Bloodfiends** who hunt down those who would give the gift freely- making my _ TRUE _gift scarce, and raising their 'price' on it."_

"You want me to hunt their leader down then, I take it?" Silica asked.

 _"The Pup understands!_ Yes. _In exchange for the knowledge you seek, you must bring me the Guild's head. Their Leader. The one who orchestrated this entire scheme and thinks himself above me. Out of sight of my eyes- he thinks his scent out of range of my nose..."_ Hircine's voice took on a dark tone. _"He is wrong. Find him, kill his immediate subordinates, but do_ not _kill him just yet. No.._. Bring him to **ME.** _The Shrine in Reaper's March where your presumed littermate turned from a Pup into a Wolf. Do this for me, and I will grant you the knowledge you seek."_

"No catches? Nothing that's a conditional?" Faraniel voiced out of concern. "Nothing else but hunting this man down in exchange for the information?"

 _"Depending on how your friend reacts to the answer she seeks, Shadow..._ That _will remain to be seen."_ And with that, the glow in the mystic bowl began to fade with Hircine's final words. _"Begin your search in Mournhold. Find the Cart that has Lost the Stars... You will pick up his scent_ there. _"_

And so the forest went silent yet again- Silica let out a deep breath. "Well...that wasn't what I expected at all."


	19. Caged Emotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Argo reflects after dealing with the source of the Plague that had troubled Mournhold.

The two of them sat on the rooftop of the Mournhold wayshrine, overlooking the city in a somber silence.

"I think I get it now," Argo said suddenly.

"Hm?" Calum looked over at her.

"As people, we just can't let go of something that's bugging us...when we were born into this world, we cried out when something went wrong. But then we learned at some point or another that people don't care, and so we bottle it up inside and keep it to ourselves," Argo began, looking down at her feet as she spoke. "We put on a mask of smiles, pretending that everything's alright. We try to be strong because that's what the world expects of us. As a people, we try to bury our problems. Just look at the Pact, as an example." She motioned out over the city. "How many of the Dunmer here have we met that expect the Argonians to go back to being slaves after the war is over and the alliance ends? Too many to count."

"Change is something people refuse to accept sometimes," The Bosmer replied. "The Heritance hated Ayrenn's idea of an alliance. The Dunmer here don't like that their former slaves are now their equals. I don't even want to get started on the Covenant... who knows what's wrong with them..." he sighed.

"This Vox lady..." the Breton girl continued on, "she refused to listen to her son, and then when he was killed, she followed the exact same path he took...And they're both in the same place now...But...I think she kept her emotions bottled up inside." She took a deep breath. "She didn't have anyone who would listen to her feelings, or so she felt. She could have said something, anything, to anyone...but she chose to turn to the same Daedra that drove her son to theft and then it ended up eventually ending her life as well...but not before she caused the deaths of so many others... she lashed out because that grief got to be too much for her.... But we all keep stuff bottled up inside, I think. Even if we don't realize it."

"The alliances aren't likely to last beyond the war," he said. "That much is a given."

"It's hard to keep everything together, to put on that brave face every morning and say that we can make a difference..." she frowned. "I wonder, how different would things be for us if none of this had happened? No war, no Soulburst, no...nothing."

"It wouldn't be our world, then," Calum replied, putting an arm around her shoulder in a comforting way. "The struggles we put into keeping our world ours....that's what makes it ours. Even if there are others trying to turn this world into theirs, there's still a chance, an option, a way to fight..."

"But even then, we have to remember to vent," Argo spoke after a moment. "We can't keep our emotions caged inside. Otherwise things will get bad. Really bad. If we keep everything bottled up inside.... It's...." She turned to look at him and smiled. "We've got to vent or else we'll explode. Right?"


	20. Stepping into the Wolf's Fangs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silica and Faraniel confront the first of many obstacles in their quest.

Silica gulped as she and Faraniel were lead down the hidden stairs of one of the local buildings into the hidden 'building' beneath the surface.

Neither of them had expected a werewolf to approach them with a job offer upon arriving in town. It had been the scent, really, that had given him away as one, despite the fact that he had simply asked them if they were interested in making some coin. Hircine had, despite their not being cursed or infected with the usual disease, gifted the two of them both with the noses and smells of natural werewolves- true enough to fool this scoundrel that thought to recruit them.

And so they were brought down into what was very obviously the head of the local division.

"Hello there," a Khajiit with fur as black as the moonless night sky greeted them as they entered the room. "What do we have here?"

"These two are lookin' to make some coin, boss," The Dunmer who had brought them here said. "They're fresh off of the carts from Mournhold."

"Mournhold, eh?" The Khajiit walked over and strolled in front of them, clearly looking Silica and Faraniel over for potential use. Silica fought back the urge to kick him between the legs and end this right here and now... "A Breton and a Bosmer in Mournhold? Why you two really must have been a long way from home to end up there. What? Got kicked out of your fancy Dominion and had nowhere else to run?"

"We're just travelers," Faraniel spoke, "we've lived all over, with nowhere to call home. Craglorn is just the latest stop on a long list." Silica had to commend the Coldharbour born Bosmer for her quick thinking- and the accent too, which sounded more Redguardish than Bosmer.

Well, better to put on a different accent as well...or rather, drop her usual one.

"Yes, this one has been wandering the warm sands of of the desert for quite some time," Silica spoke up, making note of how the dark-fured Khajiit's eyes widened in surprise at her spot on accent. "We met up in Dune, found ourselves traveling to the same destination. We have been traveling together ever since."

"Ah, a fellow walker of the Dunes, Khuzra sees?" The Khajiit, evidently named "Khuzra," smiled, throwing his arms out wide. "It has been a while since I have heard a fellow Cat, even if your face lacks fur! Most, how do you say, think this one's job distasteful." Did he think her one of those Khajiit who, born under a certain moon pair, were born looking like an ordinary human? Perhaps he did.

"What exactly is this job you are offering us, then?" Silica asked, rolling her R's properly as she'd learned to growing up. It felt surprisingly good to have an excuse to do it again, rather than force herself to speak as most others expected her to.

"Simple, my fellow Khajiit, very simple!" Khuzra said, moving over to the desk. "This one runs a two tiered system, well, three if you count our partners in crime, but they are more....how do you say... loose associates than partners, yes?"

"That sounds right to me," Faraniel said.

"Good, Good," Khuzra nodded. "The first operation is simple. We offer a service to those who seek our aid," Khuzra's eyes flared for a moment- turning more wolfish than feline. "We provide that service, and we get paid....handsomely."

"A bite for coin," Silica 'guessed', but rather knew.

"Ah, yes, so you are... familiar with our...ah, other operations?" Khuzra's demeanor grew slightly hesitant. Silica could tell it just by the pause in his words.

"This one and her partner would not have joined if we were not aware," Silica paused, then gave a sly slime, "or interested."

"Ahha, I see!" Khuzra grinned. "So then. Are you aware of our...other operations?"

"Why not give us the full pitch and find out?" Faraniel leaned onto his table, giving him a strange look that the Khajiit took rather well.

"A wonderful idea, yes...." Khuzra chuckled. "Our second operation, is the one you guessed, actually. Our first is a different one, though similar."

Silica held back a flinch. Damn, she'd almost tipped her hand, hadn't she?

"There are those who...simply wish the company of another," Khuzra explained. "Specifically, the company of Lycans such as us. They do not wish to be bitten, no, those are different customers."

"I see," Faraniel mused. "And what of the...third operation?"

"Our ah...fellow...friends of the nightlife, yes?" Bloodfiends. "They sometimes wish for us to aid in...ah...giving a firm message to those who would give their gifts freely, if you catch my meaning. In exchange for our...ah...making sure they understand, yes? Our friends of the night also help us hunt down those who, likewise, would give Hircine's gift out without checking to see if they were worthy...desperate enough to truly wish to become the monsters that we are."

"So how does that work?" Silica asked. "How do you ask the others for...assistance?"

"Khuzra is afraid that is need to know..." Khuzra's eyes flashed dangerously, "and you do not need to know."

"I'm sorry you said that," Silica glanced at Faraniel, who was already sizing up the Dunmer who was standing guard. "I was hoping we could become friends, really."

"Wait...your accent...!" Khuzra's eyes flashed again- this time as he began to realize. "Your scent, too...it is not...!"

***SHK- _THOOM!*_**

Silica drew out her hidden crossbow and shot the khajiit in the chest with a silver-bolt, meanwhile, Faraniel threw out a hidden blade at the Dunmer- who caught it in the chest and howled in surprise at the silver metal that burned rather harshly- being made out of that same metal as the crossbow bolt.

"Ready for this?" Silica shoved her crossbow back into its pouch and then drew her daggers even as the Khajiit on the floor forced himself onto his feet and began to glow with dark fires.

"Oh am I ever!" Faraniel smirked as she drew her bow and took aim at the Dunmer.

"YOU WILL DIE FOR THIS INSULT TO KHUZRA'S HOMELAND!!" Khuzra roared as his feline form became that of a towering, white fur-covered werewolf, quite a stark contrast, all things considered.

"Yeah, sure- uh huh-" Silica then flashed a smile, "Just for the record, this one grew up on Khenarthii, and trained at the temple."

The towering werewolf hesitated for a moment- although whether that was to allow time for his Dunmeri companion to transform as well we will never know- as Silica then took the opportunity to unleash her twin daggers upon the Lupine's chest with a roar.

"THEY CALL SILICA--" her roar had turned into a shouting declaration-- _**"HURRICANE BLADES!!!"**_

* * *

The fight had ended within half a minute leaving the two werewolves of white and brown fur lay dead, riddled with knife-wounds and arrows sticking out of their limbs, and the two hunters panting heavily from the quick and dirty, but successful, fight.

"Damn it, I really hope I didn't get infected," Silica grumbled as she took a look at her right shoulder- that wolf-cat had gotten a lucky snap of his jaws around her shoulder just before he died from a slit throat.

"If you did, then we'll worry about it later," Faraniel said as she pried loose some surviving arrows from the dead Dunmeri Werewolf, " _after_ we finish this."

"Good point," Silica nodded, moving over to the half-crushed desk of Khuzra's. The devilish bastard had practically leaped onto it as his opening move after transforming- if they were going to be fighting werewolves who were routinely infecting people through bites, any time they had a confrontation would risk either of them being infected. But as if that wasn't already the norm from usual werewolf fights?

She searched through the desk's remains, opening the drawers that could be opened, and breaking open the ones that couldn't. Rather quickly, though, she found a note. "Hey, Fara," she called over to the Bosmer hunter, who was still retrieving arrows. "I think I found a connection." She held up a letter and then read it. "To Khuzra-dro, don't forget to keep an eye open for any potential enemies of ours. Rumors has it that Hircine is not happy with our actions here in the Rift. We are holding a planning session on the next full moon at the usual place in Shor's Stone. Try not to be followed this time; our batling friends are still cleaning up the...mess..." She laughed at the irony, "Signed, Wolf Fang."

"The next full moon is in five days," Faraniel remembered. "I think we can make that in time, yeah?"

"Yeah," Silica nodded. "What would you say to our crashing that party of theirs?"

"Sounds like a date," Faraniel then quickly corrected- "Plan. Sounds like a plan."

"No, no. don't feel bad," Silica waved a hand at that."'Date' worked better because I set it up with 'party' first."

"Ohhh, right, right. Okay." Faraniel nodded, "Got it"


	21. An Ironic Iron Tomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Argo finds herself caught between a Draugr Coffin and A Hungry Daedra.

In Skyrim's province of Eastmarch, near Kynesgrove, there was a certain little Nordic Tomb with a certain Icy Vault.

Naturally, for an explorer of dangerous places, and having explored a place that seemed virtually identical to this one in Coldharbour (Well, virtually didn't include the lava floor in the one room but semantics), Argo the Rat had thought it a safe and perhaps fun place to explore alone while her tried and true companions were off doing other things in Tamriel. (Silica had something to do in Craglorn that she and Faraniel were remaining coy about, and the Traveler was investigating a nearby logging camp where the Forest had come alive. Green Pact stuff, clearly.)

Naturally, she found herself ambushed by three ravenous Draugr who favored shields and greatswords as their preferred weapons.

The battle was fast, and furious, and at one point, Argo felt herself being thrown backwards into something hard- and on either side of her she saw the edges of the standing Nordic Metal cradles that the Draugr had risen from.

She thought little of it beyond a slight grimacing thought of, "Yeah, nice sense of humor, rot-flesh."

It seemed to be a little cramped, tighter than she expected for a tomb, but what else was she supposed think would happen when she had Draugr pressing in on all sides and keeping her from leaving the coffin they'd thrown her into? There was no room to use her Restoration Staff in such close quarters, however.

With a roar- she bashed out with her siphon attack and watched as the thing cracked open the last of the Draugr's skulls.

It fell dead- again- and the whole room went silent.

Argo took in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. And then she took a step forwards.

"Huh?" She blinked as her shoulders were stopped by the metal that was protruding outwards.

Argo took a step back...and then another. There was really too much room in the back of this coffin for...

"Oh you are KIDDING me."

Argo swore to the Eight Divines, at the many Daedric princes that existed, and to those dead Draugr lying at her feet.

She hadn't been thrown _into_ a Coffin, she'd been thrown _BETWEEN_ two of them!

Argo turned to slip through.

Nope- not enough room.

She tried to push her way through the gap.

Nope. She really seemed to be stuck.

"How in Nirn...?" Argo scratched at her head. She looked at the floor, or more specifically, the dust patterns around where the coffins had been standing before compared to where they were now.

Both of the two facing edges had been shoved together during the previous battle narrowing the gap that had obviously been there to get her stuck in there in the first place. That had to be the only explanation.

Had to be.

"...." Argo tried to shove the metal coffin to her right away, but it wouldn't budge. "I could use the teleport strike, but..." But that spell required a distant, living target to work.

Draugr were close enough to make the spell work, but alas, there were no Draugr in sight.

"Hello?" Argo called out, loudly.

Nothing.

"Is anyone out there??"

No response was heard.

"I'll take a draugr! Maybe even an Ice Wraith?"

Silence.

"A skeleton?"

Not a squeak.

"Maybe even a mouse?"

It would be a little under five minutes before she tried to transform into a werewolf, and discovered that the transformation actually had a required free-space distance before it could even work! "Well thanks a freakin' lot, Hircine!!"

Well, it was either that or some stupid mana-level requirement which she was pretty sure was just the figment of some people's imaginations.

An hour later, one of the Traveler's pets appeared in front of her with a burst of teleportation magic. "Ah!" The Twilight giggled, "There you are! The Masterrr was wondering why you hadn't shown up at the wayshrineee..." she devolved into laughter.

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that," Argo motioned at the coffins, "kinda got stuck. Would you mind backing up a bit so I can teleport at you?" Argo asked.

"Maaayyybeee..." The Twilight spun around with a melodious giggle. "I'd like some form of... payment, yessss...?"

"Fine," Argo scowled. "What do you want?"

* * *

 

By the time Calum saw Argo marching her way back to the wayshrine they'd set as a rendezvous point, the werewolf-transformed Breton looked like a rather strange horse with an equally strange rider. The Winged Twilight he'd sent to find Argo was riding on the girl's back, legs crossed under her as a means of holding what seemed to be a lot of....

"Is that Draugr meat?"

"Don't. Ask." Argo growled, even as the Twilight took what appeared to be a flame-roasted arm, and bit into it with a delighted smile and a moan of what could only be described as someone who was gorging on a favored meal that they had not had in years.

"Nordic Dead taste just as yummy as I remember!" The Twilight said with a full mouth. "Fweeem!" That was a squeal of delight that the Traveler had never hoped to hear from a Daedra ever again. "But to have it roasted on demand...! This is simply _divine!!"_

Calum looked to Argo, who simply bared her fangs at him in a way that said, "We must never speak of this again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Except for the Twilight and the time spent trapped, this actually happened. XD


	22. Fwoosh.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a well known fact that most mobs in Tamriel are bigger on the inside...
> 
> Sometimes that doesn't work out so well when they die.

The Rat and the Traveler rested at a small rest area somewhere in the deep depths that was Sanguine's ever-lasting party dungeon.

Despite the danger represented by the various Dremora, the two were having a genuinely good time, and during their resting breaks, were retelling the events just told as a means to sort out the funniest stuff so that they could tell it to Silica later on.

"I mean, did you see the way those Ogrim just bounce when I attack them with the drain attack??" Argo asked as she swung her Restoration staff out and whirled it around a few times- the staff's magic assumed she was doing a Heavy Siphon attack, and glowed brightly with the magical glow even though she wasn't actually performing any attack.

And then something on the table ignited with a sudden shriek of surprise, startling the two dungeon delvers as they watched the fire spread and consume many of the objects on the table before burning out and leaving a massive pile of ash on the table.

"Was that a mouse?" Calum asked as he started cracking up with laughter.

"It gained mass if it did," Argo stared at the pile of ash as she, too began to laugh. "How did I even incinerate it!? My staff isn't an Inferno staff, it's Restoration!"

"I don't even know!" Calum answered, "It just sort of went...Fwooosh!"

Soon, they were bough roaring with laughter at the absurdity of the situation that had just happened.


	23. I'd call that an understatement.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people tall tall tales....
> 
> Others just want to see the world burn.

From Craglorn, there had really only been one surefire way to get to the south-eastern corner of Skyrim to find the town of Shor's Stone. That had been by cart, and by crossing over Skyrim's southern-half's mountainous region.

Naturally, the cart had to break down at the small town of Ivarstead due to a freak snow storm.

Silica and Faraniel decided to continue the trip on foot, heading east as directly as they could.

Naturally, the thick layering of the snow, especially with Ivarstead being so close to the Throat of the World as it was, meant that finding the road east was all but impossible, so, instead, they clung to the edge of the northern mountain rage, and simply headed east...

Almost immediately out of town, the duo found a Bosmer girl who was calling out for help.

"Oh please, help me!" The girl began, "I can't leave for fear of being attacked by Lockjaw!"

And so they went slightly south to where the Bosmer had pointed them, expecting something large and fearsome. A Senche, a Sabercat, or maybe even a Frost Troll...

"Is that..." Faraniel started to laugh.

"It is," Silica couldn't contain her laughter.

Lockjaw was a freaking Skeever.

They killed it easily enough, laughing about it as they returned to the girl.

"Oh thank you!" She'd said, not even offering her name as she referred to herself constantly as "a small one like I" and other such strange sentences.

And then she sent them off to kill something called "Sharp Claw," another 'terrifying beast' that was keeping the girl there.

Silica wanted to move along, but Faraniel wanted to see this through, and so they'd gone to find the thing....

It was a vulture that flew off upon seeing them.

"It fled, fearing for its life!" the Bosmer girl seemed to swoon. "Such heroics!"

And so the final thing she needed killed to flee was a Goblin... on the other side of a river that most likely would never have even seen her presence.

The cave was located near a Dolmen, in fact, although the Dark Anchor remained inactive. Perhaps this Goblin was from Coldharbour?

When they approached the cave, the "Goblin," as a matter of fact, was actually a Giant.

In a reverse, Faraniel did not want to tussle with the Giant, but Silica however gave a faint, almost wolfish grin and took to the task of felling the beast.

"Goblins, Giants," The Bosmer who had tasked them with slaying it actually _laughed_ upon hearing the discrepancy, "all the same next to a small one like me!"

But thankfully, that had been the end of _that_ series of events. The Bosmer paid them for their efforts, and left for "Valenwood, or something", while Silica and Faraniel continued east for Shor's Stone.


	24. Be Shor to Search all over the Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grid on a curve, and you'll observe, I'm right below the horizon.

Argo noticed a disturbing pattern in the Rift after quite a few adventures there, a pattern best summed up with the sentence, "Is it just me, or do we seem to be one step behind everything?"

And it all started with their Arrival in Shor's Stone.

The Ghost Giant Sinmur had arisen despite their best efforts and begun wreaking havoc across the place, and sure while that was a major problem that would need to be dealt with.... Someone was already dealing with that, it seemed.

A white furred Werewolf had angered the Ghost Giant and was leading him around the town in a path that decidedly was in the best interests in the town's favor. All of his attacks seemed to miss and hit the blasted Worm Cultists and Reachmen Bandits instead. And that was completely ignoring the fact that this one werewolf was doing this accidentally, or at least by happenstance or a wonderful circumstance.

Calum, unsure of what to make of the sight, asked a Nordic miner what had happened.

"Oh, there was this meeting of some rather unsavory folk in the town bar, but they just seemed like your average bandits and thugs, you know?" the miner shrugged. "And then suddenly this little waif of a gurl turned into that wolfie leading Sinmur around right now..." Everyone winced as the ground rumbled, and a Cultist went flying up into the heavens. "...So then she attacked them, and they all turned into wolfies too..." the miner shook his head and then said, "But right after that, Sinmur rose up right on top of them all and destroyed the building. A lot of those wolfies ran, but not dat gurl. Instea' she's...well..."

Everyone watched as Sinmur sent another group of necromancers back to Coldharbour...without their bodies.

"She's leading the thing on a wild dog chase," a Companion spoke up. "And we've got to make advantage of that distraction while we can. The damned Reachmen attacked our stronghold!"

"Let's get moving then," Argo nodded.


	25. Taking care of Our Own.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You tend to worry about Askel, although there's not much you can do to help them.
> 
> May the Eight Divines smile upon them.

Silica had dabbled in black-smiting and cloth work (Although Argo had since surpassed her in skills for the moment) for long enough to decide that paying people on contract to send her crafting supplies would be well worth the investment.

For a time, Silica had received mails from other people, who had written to her with interesting tales of adventure and intrigue...and then they stopped. Their lives had gotten so busy to the point that the contracting company had decided to simply give Silica's contract to two new hires.

One was an Argonian who was writing a book and kept a pet Mudcrab, the other....Askel Rockbiter was a complete unknown.

His (Her? Silica assumed Askel was a he but she couldn't quite be sure) Race was unknown, as was his location in Tamriel. His letters were often curt to a point. The name sounded vaguely Nordic, and so during the middle of her and Faraniel's hunt through the Rift for the leader and the highest ranking members of that Werewolf extortion ring (all of their members scattered to the four corners of the Rift in the aftermath of Sinmur's rising), Silica inquired left and right about anyone who went by that name.

The letters Silica received along with her shipments made her mad, and the Hireling company refused to do anything about disclosing his location. "Security" they said. FAH! What was she paying this company for (to pay the hire for his work) if Askel's mother was simply stealing his hard-earned coin and using it for her own ends? The abuse and other things made Silica's hair stand on end and made that inner wolf beg to be unleashed so that she could tear that woman a new hole somewhere in her torso.

It was through sheer happenstance then, that, after tracking down a member of that Extortion Ring (she died after refusing to work willingly with them, even if it would save her own life... "Freakin' Were-bears," Faraniel complained after the fight), Silica received a surprise in Askel's next letter.

"Mother was slain by a Werewolf. I am unsure whether I should be happy or sad, so I sold the clothes she bought with my monies instead. Here is your shipment. -Askel"

Silica just stared for a few moments at the words while she rolled a small piece of Obsidian rock over and over again in her hands, and then said, rather simply...

_"Huh."_


	26. The Rift in Eastmarch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Trinity Broken, to be reforged.

Your name is Argo, and you have no idea why your fellow Vestige has just come roaring through an active battle field in full werewolf form, chasing after another werewolf who seems to have been on the receiving end of quite the brawl.

In fact, it is such a strange sight that the battle currently going on grinds to a halt as both sides stare on and watch as the white-furred werewolf you recognize as Silica leaps at the other Werewolf- covered in bloody black wounds and running for their life- and slams the thing face first into the ground- and then it yelps and works its way out from under the girl before running off at speeds you’re amazed it can move at with those injuries.

What’s even more surprising is when Silica takes off after that werewolf at an even pace- bounding and leaping and snarling as they take the road northwards out of the Rift and into Eastmarch. You’ll admit you’re curious, and so you follow on horseback for the time being, no need to shift into werewolf form yourself unless it’s necessary.

The escaping werewolf heads up the road, and by sheer luck, falls out of his wolf form right outside the tunnel entrance towards that blasted mountain top ruin, Skuldafn. He (it’s a Khajiit, you note) enters, and Silica, shifting back to human form at will, chases after him. You, however, know a quicker path, and head towards the closest wayshrine to teleport up there.

Arriving up there, you try to figure out where Silica will come out at if the other Werewolf managed to escape all the way without dying to her blades/claws.

Like the tunnel that had let the Ebonheart Pact reach Skuldafn in the first place, there must have been another shortcut somewhere inside after that main gate because they emerge a lot sooner than you expected, in a completely different part of the ruin than you were expecting.

That is to say- they emerged higher up in the ruins than you’re able to get to from where you currently stand, and so you run and climb towards the top floor- where that chase is heading- where the portal to Sovrengard resides.

It shouldn’t be open, you know, and as you run, you can’t see the damned thing being open at any stage, but it’s still a concern.

“SURRENDER NOW, ATRIUS! AND I’LL GO EASY ON YOU!” Siica yells from somewhere above you.

“THIS ONE WILL NEVER SURRENDER!” The Khajiit yells back in anger. “HIRCINE WILL FLAY THIS ONE ALIVE!”

And then there’s a dual roar of two Werewolves shifting, and then the sound of claws against fur once again.

You continue to ascend towards the portal floor, taking your own shortcuts where-ever possible… But by the time you get up there, it’s too late. Silica delivers a blow to the Khajiit that makes him revert to his normal form right next to that damned portal and… is it glowing? It’s glowing slightly and that is never a good sign.

“You Fool!” The Khajiit growls as he grabs at the knapsack that had barely hung onto him across transformations. “You have no idea the power that Atrius wields!” And then he- Oh by the Eight!!

You don’t know where the hell the Khajiit-Werewolf got his hands on a Divines damned Elder Scroll (You’re willing to place good money on somewhere in Cyrodill, though), but he’s taken it out and brandishing it as if it’s a staff or a sword or something.

Silica reverts to human form and is holding her hands out, “Alright! Okay! Just put the scroll down…!”

You crouch into a sneak and start making your way towards the mad Khajiit as he rambles.

“All this one wished to do was make a few thousand gold selling the gift Hircine so kindly gave him!” The Khajiit growled. “So many things they would pay with! This Scroll was one of them! Hah! You think Hircine sent you simply just to end my schemes??! NO!” he spat at the ground, “Hircine wanted this Scroll for himself! He sent you to do his dirty work!!! This one will never give it up! NEVER!!!”

Silica leaps before you can get into range- grabbing at the Scroll as the Khajiit throws himself backwards onto the portal which, going by the rapidly increasing glow, is very likely about to op-

And then there is a blinding flash of light and you can’t see a thing.

-en.

Well. That was a worst case scenario.

By the time your vision restores itself, there’s nothing. No Khajiiti Werewolf, no Elder Scroll, and no Silica in sight.

Or at least, that’s what you think before you hear a distant scream- the Khajiit’s grating voice is yelling out some obscenities. You look up on a hunch and—

_**SPLAT.** _

The damned Khajiit-Werewolf slams head first into the stonework that made up the portal’s ground layer- his head snaps off at an awkward angle and yeah… he’s dead.

You know this to be true because a moment later, a spectral werewolf fades into existence above the body, looking around in confusion before a chain suddenly wraps itself around the wolf’s neck and begins dragging it through the air towards some unseen portal…

And then Hircine’s voice echoes out as the spectral werewolf disappears into thin air: _**“It. Is. DONE.”**_

And you…?

Your name is Argo and you suddenly understand nothing.


	27. Barrel of Laughs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eh? What's this? Another chapter addition?
> 
> Well, ESO's got DLCs now. I got inspired by the latest one to write something up.

_'The guards are particularly stubborn tonight,'_ Argo bit back a growl as she waited for the hired guard to waltz past her chosen hiding spot- a large rug basket resting on the docks.  
  
It was either her impatience for battle or her desire to find a way to recover Silica from when-ever she'd landed in, but whatever the cause- Argo was certain that she hated waiting in these stupid baskets while waiting for the dumb stupid guards to get out of her way so she could do her freaking job.  
  
Her nose itched from the dust clinging to the rugs and the walls of the barrel, and her skin felt slick with sweat from the salty and hot and humid air that came from being on the docks of a particularly desert like region. Abbah's Landing- Hew's Bane- she wasn't sure which was the proper name for this region and which was the town, but whatever. It didn't really matter because it didn't change the fact that here she was, a Nightblade with some impressive fighting reflexes... and she was forced to wait.  
  
Oh, it wasn't like she couldn't blast her way through these foolish Iron Wheel pricks with ease- they were barely worth anything to her Werewolf claws that had tore jagged cuts into Molag Bal's hide- but the Thieves' Guild ran on minimum bloodshed. It was their 'code' and it set them apart from the rest of the bunch.  
  
Really, expecting a werewolf to NOT fight was like asking a Flame Atronach to not set things on fire when it did just about anything.

And so she- _'Ah! Finally!'_ \- The Guard had his back turned and Argo was moving out of the basket before he could even hear her removing the lid. The small Fennic Fox that had been waiting nearby in the shadows saw her move and gave chase.  
  
It wasn't a particularly stealthy companion in concept, Argo, mused, but the little thing had proven itself more times already than she'd expected. The fox had been a gift from the Traveler after they'd met up in the thieves' den in Daggerfall to trade notes on their progress towards finding out what happened to Silica. He'd said that he had some business in Waywrest that the Queen had sent him on that might prove interesting. She, on the other hand, had been approached by a thief looking for a partner.  
  
And that had been how Argo had gotten in way over her head and was trespassing through the warehouse district of this port town so she could find a stupid ledger so that she could get the aid of a former member of the guild so that they could- What was it again? Argo scrunched her nose up as she hid in the shadows. Even as her little pet fox scurried up to her feet, Argo couldn't remember what the overall point of this was. She wasn't even sure that her "Guild Master" knew that she'd even been sent on this little expedition.

And that really was the frustrating part. It had just been a mission to pass the time away, not... THIS. Not this expedition to a far-away part of the land and end up-- _'And there's another guard!'_ \-- diving into another rug basket.

Impatience. That was what Argo decided it was. She was dealing with her own impatience in wanting to get her friend... maybe even possibly sister... back from the clutches of who knew what. Akatosh seemed like a decent deity to swear at, for some reason.  
  
As she waited for this next guard to pass by, Argo reflected on her dreams since that time. They were odd, broken, and scattered. Sometimes they focused on Silica surviving in some hellish plane of oblivion, and other times it was of Argo herself having found herself in the company of assassins.  
  
Assassins? Assassins Argo could work with. She could kill with surprising stealth. That was what she was good at. She appeared, struck, and disappeared back into the shadows. Breaking cover even for a moment was practically part of the job requirement of being a Nightblade. But no, instead here she was working as a normal thief who couldn't kill anyone. Freaking stupid guards and their stupid lanterns that refused to walk faster than an Ice Atronach.  
  
Finally, this one left as well, and Argo was on the move again.  
  
As she finally made her way towards the assigned meeting place behind the back of a certain warehouse, Argo mused that if she survived this whole encounter with the Thieves' Guild, at the very least she might be able to use their resources to help figure out what to do about Silica's disappearance. They never should have let her go off on her own. Why had they been so stupid to have let her wander around like that? She was just a kid. Sure, a kid who had helped them smack Molag Bal into submission, but a kid none the less.  
  
The lady she was supposed to be helping mistook her impatience for simply being a brute, but oh well, what could be done. Argo didn't care what others thought of her right now. She just wanted her friend back.  
  
And she would do anything to make sure that worked out in the end.

 


	28. Chim-el, Ringing a Bell.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two circles intersect- do they break their circular loop, or instead fuse into one?

For a time, I was sure that they were both still here. At one point I'd see Silica. Others, I'd see Argo. Sometimes both on the same spot.

Eventually, I came to the conclusion that I was seeing things and was ignoring the fact that they'd both disappeared from thin air.

In the weeks following that strange, almost paradoxical disappearance of both Argo and Silica, I was left alone with Faraniel more often than not. When I wasn't off researching ways of finding out how to reopen that mystical portal, she and I would share our sorrows downing drinks in some of Tamriel's finest bars and taverns. Through the Mages Guild, we traveled freely between the alliances, despite the ongoing war.

And then Faraniel heard rumor of a fragment of the Amulet of Kings surfacing in the Daggerfall Covenant.

A "Fragment"? I'd asked many times as we traveled by boat to the town of Wayrest. I knew that Aburn Tharn had absconded with the thing after we'd killed Molag Bal, but surely... Surely the idiot hadn't _**Broken**_ the damned Amulet after escaping!

Despite my insistence upon a neutral stance, Queen Ayrenn had come to speak to me privately about the rumors on the day we'd set out.

"If the Covenant really has a fragment of the Amulet of Kings, it could lend a legitimacy to their reign that the Dominion and the Pact do not have." Ayrenn expressed her concerns simply, not as a Queen, but as a person. "If that is how destiny decides to play this hand, then it is fine... I'm willing to deal with that kind of ploy on the field of politics. However, if Molag Bal's spies hear of this, neigh, if the remnants of the Heritance decide to use this against us..."

If this was true- if the Covenant actually had a fragment of the Amulet of Kings- then enemies from all walks of life would seek to use this fact against pretty much _everyone_. Aldmeri Dominion, Ebonhart Pact, Cyrodillic Empire, and even the Daggerfall Covenant alike would face fire from all sides to get control of that fragment of the Amulet of Kings.

"I trust you to do the right thing in the end," Ayrenn said. "With your companions gone... you're the only one I can trust to do the right thing when it comes to dealing with this Amulet fragment. Steal it if you must- destroy it if absolutely necessary. Give it to me or keep it for yourself. But whatever you decide, I know it will be the right choice."

And so Faraniel and I had departed to Wayrest, knowing that Queen Ayrenn was concerned for the safety of Tamriel as a whole.

If this rumor was true, we would be facing a challenge that could be impossible to overcome.

* * *

The Fragment of the Amulet of Kings was being held on display in the Wayrest Palace, and would be officially unveiled today. It truly was the most prominent of displays, being held in a cloaked box at the center of the throne room's large plaza.

Curiously, Faraniel pointed out to me, was the Bosmer Girl standing guard around that cloaked box that so many were staring at, awaiting for the cloth to be removed. "When would it be removed?" So many children asked impatiently. "When? When? When?" The Bosmer girl standing guard just answered their questions with a "When tha Lady G'utier makes 'er grand entr'nce."

She had a curiously thick accent, which even Faraniel and I were caught off guard by. It wasn't the standard bosmeri accent I was used to, either. She definitely didn't have the peculiar twang of the Coldharbour dialect either. It was... different. Yet familiar.

I'd heard it somewhere before, but I just couldn't place it then.

And then music began playing from the band, and magical spotlights shone upon High King Emeric, who spoke aloud, surprising everyone by being a simple, humble announcer as he listed a long string of achievements and titles, the top most of which being that he had been personally saved from Septima Tharn's clutches by this person's hands.

"Geeze, you'd think she's as well traveled as you and the Rat were," Faraniel whispered to me as the High King concluded.

"Finally! I present to you the Lady of the Hour, Daggerfall's greatest hero... Lady Louise Gautier!"

And then, the Bosmeri Guard threw a small smokescreen orb at the ground- one I'd seen many people use to great effect before- and while the smoke dispersed through the air, there was a burst of lightning- not too dissimilar to the effect that happened when I summoned a Storm Atronach- that made the smoke billow out in thickness before fading away, revealing...

"Huh," I said aloud, very much surprised.

"Welcome!" A nordic girl- she couldn't have been but a few years older than Silica had been- threw her arms out wide as she greeted her guests. Her slightly pink-hued golden hair rippled out as a small blast of wind cleared the smoke from the room. "Welcome Everyone!" She had a dwemer constructed staff strapped to her back, and her clothing was of the same quality as any Noble's fancy clothing. "Thank you all for coming."

The thing was, I'd seen this girl before. Twice, to be exact. Once when escaping Coldharbour in the first place- just another face in the crowd, then. And once a second time during that final run against Molag Bal's Planar Vortex, she'd been hanging around some guy from the Fighter's Guild... Darien, wasn't it? Yeah, Darien Gautier. Was this his... wife? Sister?

"My name is Lady Gautier," the girl introduced herself. "A long time ago, while exploring an Ayleid ruin with the late Lady Laurent-" there were sniffles from a man who looked familiar. Had I met him somewhere in Coldharbour? "-I discovered a chamber, hidden away from normal foot trafick. It appeared to be a vault. But a vault unlike any that has been discovered thus far in any other ruins! Even the way I found inside remains a mystery!" She then drew her staff from her back, and began moving it through the air, drawing visual imagery to match her story, "To this day, we have all heard the stories of the fabled Amulet of Kings. How it was made from a drop of crystallized blood, and carved into the Red Diamond that the song we all know so well sings of." She wiped those images away and smiled at the gathered crowd. "Today, I am proud to present to you a long lost relic of history. The Amulet of Kings as we all know is that- an Amulet. Something that you wear around your neck, but still, very large for an amulet."

I'd admit, having seen it for myself, it was quite large for a necklace.

"But have you not wondered?" The Lady Gautier began to tell her story, crouching low to look a young child in the eyes. "What happened to the pieces it was cut from? Where the parts that gave it that distinctive diamond shape went?"

Next to me, a Breton man who looked like he hadn't even bothered to trim his beard for this event gulped.

I paid him no further attention but a sideways glance.

The child the Lady Gautier was talking to nodded. "Yeah! Where did it all go?!"

"I'm glad you've asked," And so the Lady Gautier stood tall, and strolled over to the cloaked box which, as I really truly looked at it for the first time, appeared quite larger than I'd been expecting for something related to the Amulet of Kings. And that was.... fitting, if she was going with this where I thought she was. "Because as you all know. The Divines are massive beings... a single drop of blood is larger by sheer comparison to our own blood droplets." And then she gripped the top of the cloth. "I give you... the base stone that the Amulet of Kings was cleaved from. I give you...." She pulled the cloth away, revealing a massive ruby gemstone about the size of a man's head. "The Ruby Diamond, Chim-el Adabal!"

"You've gotta be _**KIDDING ME!!!**_ " The unshaven man from before let out a cry of surprise, anguish, and... was that a hint of approval in his voice?

"Ah, Jakarn," The Lady Gautier smiled at the Breton man. "It's nice to see you again. I'm glad you could make it on such short notice."

The man, Jakarn, just looked at the girl with a gobsmacked expression as he futilely raised and lowered his right hand in an attempt to find the right words to say.

Honestly? I was more transfixed by the sheer size of the giant stone in the glass case. That... how exactly does a rock the size of someone's head count as a "Fragment" of the Amulet of Kings??


End file.
